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VA 

. 4 ^^ '' . 







THREE GIRLS AND ESPECIALLY ONE. 


IN THE SAME SERIES. 

The Blissylvania Post Office. By Marion 
Ames Taggart. i6mo, cloth, 50 cents. 

An Heir of Dreams. By Sallie Margaret 
O’Malley. i6mo, cloth, 50 cents. 

A Summer at Woodville. By Anna T. 
Sadlier. i6mo, cloth, 50 cents. 


Three Girls and Especially 
One. 


BY 



MARION AMES TAGGART, 

f\ 


/iuihor of ‘‘The Blissylvania Tost Office,” etc. 


NEW YORK, CINCINNATI, CHICAGO! 

Benziger Brothers, 

Printers to the Holy Apostolic See. 

1897. 



Copyright, 1897, by Benziger Brothers. 


CONTENTS 




A Gifted Girl, 

CHAPTER I. 

PAGE 

An Arrival, 

chapter h. 

Humiliations, 

CHAPTER III. 

CHAPTER IV. 


The End of Dreaming, 42 

CHAPTER V. 

The Beginning of Living, 54 


Little Things, 

CHAPTER VI. 

68 


CHAPTER VII. 


A Friend in Need, 


. 83 


4 


Contents, 


CHAPTER VIII. 

A Merry Christmas after All, 

CHAPTER IX. 


New Year’s Calls, 


CHAPTER X. 

A Parting, 

CHAPTER XI. 


PAGE 

. . 97 

. . II2 

. . 125 


A Real Poem, . 


137 


THREE GIRLS, AND ESPECIALLY ONE. 


CHAPTER I. 

A GIFTED GIRL. 

The Merricks as a family were very much 
like a great many other people in the world 
— not remarkable in any way. The five 
younger children were every-day girls and 
boys, but the eldest girl was gifted. 

Mr. Merrick was too busied with making 
money for his flock — in which he was wonder- 
fully successful — to realize what it meant to 
be the lather of a genius ; but Mrs. Merrick 
felt with pride that Marcella was not like 
other girls, and her sisters and brothers real- 
ized it too, but with more annoyance than 
pleasure. 

Marcella — or Marcy as she was called — was 


6 


A Gifted Girl. 


only twelve, but she had made up her mind to 
do something to amaze the world. She was 
not sure whether she should be the greatest 
singer, or the greatest painter, or the great- 
est poet of her day ; but she should be one 
of these things, and that which she finally 
decided upon she was to be in the superla- 
tive degree. 

In the mean time she wrote pretty bad 
verses, and made sketches in which nothing 
ever seemed to have the appearance it had 
in nature ; and these bulls of the promise of 
her future greatness were carefully treasured 
by her mother, to whom alone — and the 
genius herself — they were beautiful. Marcy 
was a pretty child, and would have been 
much prettier had not her delicate face been 
written over with thoughts of self, and there 
were in it possibilities of great beauty if the 
nobler side of her childish character should be 
ever aroused. 

Mr. Merrick was occupied with business ; 
his children did not feel very well acquainted 
with him. Poor Mrs. Merrick had social 
ambition, and was eagerly pursuing an up- 
ward course in life, trying, as she said, ‘ ‘ to 


A Gifted Girl. 


7 


make a place in the world for her children,” 
which left her less time than was needed to 
make them fit to occupy a place in the world 
as fine men and women. Happily she sent 
the children to Catholic schools, and, being 
healthy and sweet-natured little souls, they 
were growing up better than one might have 
feared they would in a home where the high- 
est standards were lacking. 

There were Marcy, and Inez — whose name 
was Agnes, but whose mother preferred the 
Spanish form as less common— and Bob, and 
Hugh, and Grace, and little Lucy, the baby, 
who resented the title, being arrived at the 
dignity of three years. 

Bob and Hugh managed to get a good deal 
of pleasure out of each other, but the rest 
were not especially congenial ; and though 
Inez was but a year younger than Marcy, 
they had scarcely any interest in common. 
Marcy took refuge in a land of dreams, and 
spent most of her time in the house curled up 
in a favorite window that gave her a glimpse 
of the grass of Central Park and full view of 
the tree-tops, in dreamy idleness, which Bob 
scornfully called ” mooning,” and from 


8 


A Gifted GirL 


which, if any one disturbed her, she was 
likely to emerge very cross. 

Poor little Marcy “ dreamed noble deeds 
all day long,” but did not do them ; nor had 
it ever occurred to her that there was no 
poem, or song, or picture so beautiful as an 
unselfish life. 

Marcy sat in her own particular nook one 
bright October afternoon. For fully twenty 
minutes she had not taken her eyes from the 
floating clouds over the swaying tree-tops, 
nor had she touched the pencil, poised in mid- 
air, to the sheet of paper laid ready on her 
lap. The sheet was long, but so far there was 
but one line on it, written very fine near the 
top, to leave plenty of room for the long poem 
of which it was intended to be the beginning. 

Clump ! clump ! clump ! came a rapid and 
sturdy tread up the stairs. The door burst 
open, and Hugh appeared. “ Say,” he be- 
gan before he was in sight, ” fix my marble 
bag? It’s got a big hole in it, and I’ve lost 
my new agate. Oh, I thought Norah was 
here ! Where’s Norah ?” 

“ My goodness ! how should I know ?” 
cried Marcy impatiently. 


A Gifted Girl. 


9 


Well, I want her to sew up my marble 
bag. I’ve lost my agate and some alleys, 
only I can’t tell how many, cause I’ve for- 
gotten how many Will Easton won off me. 
Where's Norah ?’’ 

“ 1 tell you. 1 don’t know !” cried Marcy. 
“ Go find her if you want your bag sewed up. 
And, Hugh, never say he won them ‘ off 
me ’ ; you don’t have marbles on you. Say 
‘ he won them from me.’ ” 

"What d’you s’pose I care?" retorted 
Hugh, and departed to find Norah, leaving 
the door open behind him. Marcy shut it 
with unnecessary emphasis, and reseated her- 
self with a sigh. 

Presently some one came down-stairs from 
the floor above at such a rate as could only 
be done by casting the body over the banis- 
ters, and letting the feet follow as they could. 
This time it was Bob. 

" Say, where are my bicycle stockings?" 
he cried. " Oh ! 1 thought Norah was here. 
1 want my bicycle stockings, and 1 can’t find 
them. Where’s Norah ?" 

" Bob, I don’t know," said Marcy. 

‘ Well, don’t take my head off I want my 


lO 


A Gifted Girl. 


stockings ; the boys are waiting. Couldn’t 
you come help me find them ? ’ 

■’No, 1 could not. Go away; you’ve 
spoiled my rhyme, and I’ve just thought of a 
good one, ' ’ said Marcy despairingly. 

“ And you don’t care a cent if my ride’s 
spoiled ; glad I’m not such a mean thing as 
you are, ’ retorted Bob, going off in high 
dudgeon. 

Marcy settled herself once more, feeling 
very much abused, and had only succeeded 
in forgetting Bob, when down-stairs, one step 
at a time, came the tread of little feet. 

” Nonie, where’s Nonie ?” cried Lucy, 
coming in. “I want Nonie to fitz my dolly. 
Marc}^ you fitz her ; her dwess is all 
cwooked.” 

" Lucy, I can’t fix your doll. Go find 
Norah,” cried Marcy. “ Go away this mo- 
ment, and don’t bother me.” 

“Naughty Marcy!” said Lucy severely. 

I’ll wite Santa Closet not to bwing you any 
pwesents Cwistmus. ’ 

Bob met her in the doorway ; he looked 
dangerous ; the boys had gone without him. 
He had not found Norah nor the stockings ; 


A Gifted Girl, 


II 


his ride was spoiled, and he was ready for 
mischief. “ Hold on, Lu ; where’ re you 
going he cried, seizing a curl in each hand 
and holding Lucy fast. ‘ ‘ Stay here ; 1 want 
you. ‘ Linger longer, Lucy, linger longer, 
Lu,’ ” he sang tantalizingly. 

Lucy raised her voice in vigorous protest. 
“ Let me ’lone, Bob Mehwick !” she scream- 
ed. “Let me go! I want Nonie. Marcy, 
make Bob let go me.” 

Bob,” cried Marcy, springing up, ” let 
go of Lulie’s hair, and stop bothering me. 
I d box your ears for a cent.” 

” I won’t offer one,” cried Bob, stick- 
ing his head around the door from the hall 
whither he had fled, while Lucy went up-stairs 
one step at a time, talking to her doll indig- 
nantly all the way. 

Marcy shut the door in profound disgust. 
” I wonder if Madeleine Greene knows how 
lucky she is to be an only child?” she said 
aloud as she picked up the paper and pencil 
she had dropped in her rush on Bob. 
“ There’s no peace in this house for one sin- 
gle minute.” 

Ten minutes later the door opened, and a 


12 


A Gifted Girl, 


pretty but angry face peeped in, followed by 
the odor of violets, and a slender girl entered, 
saying : 

“ Oh, here you are, Marcy ! I was look- 
ing for you. ’ 

“ Now, Inez, what do you want ? I do 
wish you’d let me alone !" cried Marcy. 

But Inez was too vexed to quarrel with her 
sister, to whom she wished to pour out her 
grievance. " I’ve got something to tell 
you,” she said, laying off her hat with a 
tragic gesture. ” What do you think May 
Vanderberg's done ?” 

” I don’t know,” said Marcy in a tone 
that meant, “and, what is more, I don’t 
care.” 

“ She hasn’t invited me to her party !" 
said Inez, as if she defied the world to pro 
duce another such wrong. 

“Well, what of it? She didn’t ask me 
either, did she? I wish you’d go away and 
let me write, Inez,” said Marcy, 

” Of course she didn’t ask you,” said Inez, 
ignoring the latter part of her sister's re- 
mark. “ But you don’t care. I heard she 
said she didn’t want us.” 


A Gifted Girl. 


15 


Marcy almost laughed. “ Well, since she 
didn’t ask us, I suppose that's so,” she said. 

“ Yes, and if you had one bit of pride you’d 
care,” cried Inez. 

” H’m ! I don’t see that,” retorted Marcy. 
” That’s a funny pride to want May Vander- 
berg’s invitation. I don’t care about going 
to her house one bit more than she cares to 
have me. I don’t think she’s a very nice girl. 
She stayed overnight with Mary Whiting 
once, and you know she made fun and told 
about everything they had and did just be- 
cause they’re poor. And a girl that will do 
that isn’t a lady, and I don’t care about 
knowing her.” 

Inez gasped. ” Not a lady ! Why, Marcy 
Merrick ! the Vanderbergs are one of the old 
New York families ; mamma said so.” 

“ I don’t care ; she’s not a lady,” Marcy 
maintained stoutly. ” It was a mean, sneaky 
thing to do. What do you care if she didn’t 
ask you to her party ?” 

” Well, I do care,” replied Inez. ” And I 
hate to be slighted ; and what would you do 
if you were me ?” 

“ If I were you I’d speak good English, 


14 


A Gifted Girl. 


and I’d rather never be invited to anybody's 
party than say ; ‘ If you were me,' ” said 
Marcy severely. 

“ Well, ‘if you were /,’ then,” said Inez. 
“You don’t care for anything but trying to 
write poetry and mooning.” 

“ That’s all right,” said Marcy with sub- 
lime confidence. “ When I’m famous I'll 
have more invitations than I want, for I 
never shall care for such trash as parties ; 
and you’ll be asked everywhere because you 
are my sister. ” 

“ It's no more trash to go to parties and 
like nice dresses than it is to be so vain 
and proud about being famous,” said Inez, 
stung by Marcy’s tone of superiority, and 
not very grateful for the vague prospect of 
future glory to be reflected on her by her sis- 
ter’s fame. 

“ Oh, my, yes ; it’s very different,” said 
Marcy. “ These are great, big, noble 
things ; and when you’re dead people will 
see what you did ; but parties and all that 
kind of stuff is just — just that's all.” 

” There's the bell to get ready for dinner,” 
cried Inez, rising hastily. “ Mamma ’ll be 


A Gifted Girl. 


15 


sorry we’re not asked to May’s party. She 
likes to have us know people like that.” 

Yes, there’s the bell ; and between you, 
and Bob, and Hugh, and Lulie, I’ve lost this 
afternoon,” sighed Marcy, gathering up her 
papers. ‘‘Yes, I suppose mamma will be 
sorry. I don’t see why she cares, I de- 
clare,” Marcy added with vigor. ” Papa 
says he’ll send me to Europe when I’m fif- 
teen to finish my education. I wish he’d 
take the money now and build a room for me 
way off somewhere, where none of you could 
come, and pad the walls so I wouldn’t hear 
any noise.” 

‘‘ Yes, you’re a nice sister,” said Inez. 
“ All you want is never to see any of us, and 
yet nothing you do is anything. You think 
you’re gifted, but I don’t.” 

Marcy’s eyes filled with sudden tears. 
Nothing touched her like throwing cold 
water on her hopes. ” Inez,” she said sol- 
emnly, ” if I thought I’d never be anything 
but just an every-day woman I’d die. I 
want to have a splendid life. You don’t 
understand, Inez, how I feel.” 

Her earnestness impressed Inez for a mo- 


i6 


A Gifted Girl. 


ment, and she was sorry she had spoken so 
strongly. The two children were utterly 
unlike ; and though a year younger, the 
worldly little Inez was older in many ways 
than Marcy, with her unguided longing for 
nobler things and mistaken notions of how to 
reach them. 

“ Well, never mind, Marcy,” Inez said 
kindly. ” Very likely you won’t have a com- 
mon life ; you’re queer enough now, dear 
knows. Perhaps you are gifted ; I’m sure I 
can’t tell. Sometimes I think you’re silly, 
but maybe that’s because you’re clever. I 
heard papa say once some man was either a 
fool or a genius, and it was pretty hard tell- 
ing them apart. I forgot to tell you, the 
other day I heard one of the nuns saying 
Marcella Merrick was a gifted girl, and they 
ought to know.” 

And Marcy was comforted. 


An Arrival, 


17 


CHAPTER II. 

AN ARRIVAL. 

Dinner was nearly over when Mr. Mer- 
rick suddenly laid down his knife and fork 
and began searching vainly in the pockets of 
his coat for something. “ Hugh,” he said, 
” run up-stairs and go to my dressing-room 
and bring down a letter you will find in the 
outside pocket of my overcoat. I had a let- 
ter from Tom, my dear,” he continued, ad- 
dressing his wife. “His little girl is coming 
here to spend the winter with us.” 

Mrs. Merrick dropped her fork in her turn. 
“Coming here? Tom’s little girl?” she 
gasped. 

“ Yes,” Mr. Merrick said. “ Coming 
here. Tom wrote me last summer saying 
he wanted to send her to school somewhere 
in New York ; but the girl did not like the 
idea of leaving home ; besides, he was afraid 


i8 


An Arrival. 


it would cost a good deal, so he asked my 
advice.” 

” Did you ask her here then?” inquired 
Mrs. Merrick with unmistakable disap- 
proval. 

” Yes, Clara, 1 asked her here,” Mr. Mer- 
rick answered. ” I told him . that she could 
go to school with our children, and it would 
be pleasanter than going to a boarding- 
school, be more like home to her, and to send 
her on. This was last summer ; and I had 
forgotten all about it when this letter came, 
accepting the offer.” 

“It is most annoying !” exclaimed Mrs. 
Merrick. 

“ Why, in a big house like this, with so 
many children in it, one more or less can 
make no difference,” said Mr. Merrick. 
“ Tom says Minnie— no, Bessie — no, that’s 
not her name either. Oh, here’s the let- 
ter. Thank you, Hugh. Oh, yes, Nellie. 
Tom says Nellie is a pretty girl and a won- 
derfully good one, with such a sweet temper 
that no one can help loving her. I’ve no 
doubt the children will enjoy her tremen- 
dously.” 


An Arrival. 


19 


The children had been listening to this 
conversation in such amazement that they 
forgot to eat, and at this point a chorus of 
questions burst forth. 

“ Who’s Tom, papa?” 

” How old is she ?” 

” Is a little girl coming here to live ?” 

” When is she coming ?” 

Mrs. Merrick answered the first question. 

Tom, children, is your Uncle Tom, who 
lives in some dreadful little Western town, 
and is quite poor. This little girl is his 
daughter, whom your father has brought 
among us.” 

” Tom is not very poor, Clara,” her hus- 
band corrected* her. ” He says he has a 
comforta.ble home.” 

” How horrid !” Inez cried petulantly. 
“ I shall be ashamed to be seen with her, I 
know, and I shall never introduce a girl like 
that to nice people as my cousin.” 

” She is your cousin, Inez,” said her father 
sternly, ” and you will treat her with all 
kindness. I will have no such nonsense as 
this in my house ; so remember to behave 
yourself properly to your guest.” 


20 


An Arrival. 


When Mr. Merrick did arouse himself to 
lay down commands to his children they 
dared not disobey ; but there was a look 
around Inez’s mouth that indicated anything 
but cheerful obedience, and boded ill for the 
comfort of the coming cousin. 

“ After all,” said Marcy, with a look of 
amused contempt at her sister, ” she may not 
dress in feathers and buffalo skins,' Inez. 
And, perhaps, after she has been here a while 
we can get her to eat roast beef instead of 
dog meat. How old is she, father ? And 
when is she coming ?”“ 

Mr. Merrick smiled. It often occurred to 
him that when he could so arrange his busi- 
ness as to have more leisure*for his family he 
might find his eldest daughter good com 
pany. ” She is just your age, Marcy,” he 
said. ” And she is coming~l^t me see. 
Your uncle writes she leaves Monday — that 
was yesterday. She will be here to-mor- 
row.” 

I can only repeat that it is most annoy- 
ing,” said Mrs. Merrick, rising. 

” Well, all I say is it’s a pity she’s not a 
boy,” said Bob, taking a hasty drink of 


An Arrival. 


21 


water before sliding sideways out of his 
chair. “ We’ve got too many girls here now. ” 

“ Of course it’s a pity," said Inez sharp- 
ly ; " for you don’t have to introduce boys 
to your friends.’’ 

" W ell, I’m sorry she’s so big," remarked 
six-year-old Grace, the quiet member of the 
family. " Marey and Inez are big, and 
Lulie’s a baby, and Bob and Hugh are boys, 
and there’s no one for me at all. Papa, 
hasn’t Uncle Tom got a nice little girl about 
six 

" I’ve no doubt he has, Gracie," her fa- 
ther replied, smiling. " I believe your Uncle 
Tom has children of all ages, to suit all de- 
mands. ’’ 

" Well, please ask him to lend us a little 
one next time," said Grace mournfully. 

The next afternoon Marcy, and Inez, and 
Bob were watching eagerly behind the lace 
curtains of the sitting-room for the arrival of 
" the prairie chicken," as Bob had christened 
her. Faithful nurse Norah had gone to the 
station to meet the little traveller. Mrs. 
Merrick had a club meeting to attend, and 
Mr. Merrick could not leave his business. 


22 


An Arrival, 


When the carriage drove up the children 
saw Norah’s portly form descend first, and 
after her came a little figure all in brown, 
which stood looking up and down the tall 
gray stone house, with every shade drawn on 
a level with the upper sash and every win- 
dow veiled in lace, with no living thing to be 
seen that seemed to be looking for or think- 
ing of a homesick, frightened little stranger. 

" I guess she doesn’t know whether she 
ought to go in the front door or the base- 
ment,” laughed Bob. 

” She really is pretty,” said Marcy. 

Look, Inez, what big brown eyes she has, 
and how prettily her hair curls round her 
forehead . ’ ' 

Well, so it does,” admitted Inez grudg- 
ingly. ” But for pity’s sake, where did she 
get that hat ? What will the Hales say to 
her ?” 

They wouldn’t be the Hales if they 
didn’t say something rude,” said Marcy. 

And Bob added ; ” H’m ! they needn’t 
talk, if they have got lots of money. I’ve 
seen some of their relations, and they were a 
queer lot.” 


An Arrival, 


23 


The sitting-room door opened at this point, 
and Norah looked in. 

“ Oh, here they are. Come in, Miss Nel- 
lie, dear. Miss Marcy, Miss Inez, Master 
Bob, here’s your cousin all safe, and glad to 
get here, I’ll be bound.” 

The children turned to meet a wistful and 
very pretty childish face surmounting a slen- 
der figure taller than either of theirs. 

” How do you do ?” said Inez in her most 
grown-up and fashionable air. ” Hope 
you’re not too tired.” She gave her cousin 
her hand, and pecked one cheek, which red- 
dened fiercely at her greeting. 

“How are you. Cousin Nellie? I am 
Marcy,” said Marcy with cordiality, much 
heightened by Inez’s foolish airs. “You 
must be half dead after such a journey.” 

“ No, I’m not,” said Nellie, kissing Marcy 
heartily. “ I was dreadfully scared at first, 
for I’d never been more than an hour on the 
train before. But it’s grand in those sleep- 
ers, isn’t it? Only I didn’t dare sleep the 
first night. I had to say my beads all night, 
it joggled so. Last night I never waked up 
once. I suppose you get used to it.” 


24 


An Arrival, 


They serve pretty good dinners on those 
trains,” remarked Inez with the air of one 
who had been around the globe. 

‘‘ I shouldn’t wonder,” laughed Nellie. 
” I didn’t try them. I had my food in a box. 
Ma had a whole chicken roasted for me, and 
lots of cake, and bread and butter, so I got 
on fine. I couldn’t afford to buy dinners. 
It’s dreadfully expensive coming East any- 
how. It’ll cost pa more than fifty dollars 
just for my travelling both ways. I wrote 
postal-cards home all the way along, and 
posted them in Chicago, and Cleveland, and 
Buffalo, and told them I was beginning to 
count on going back already.” The pretty 
face flushed and looked distressed, and Nel- 
lie added hastily : ” Not but that I shall be 
real happy here with you all. I think it was 
awfully good of Uncle Richard and Aunt 
Clara to ask me here, because, of course, it’s 
like being with brothers and sisters to be 
with cousins, or most like it. Only I’m 
awfully fond of my home, and it’s just the 
cutest little house anywhere round there. 
But isn’t New York grand though ? And 
what a magnificent house you’ve got ! Pa 


An Arrival. 


25 


said Uncle Dick was rich ; but I reckon he 
don’t know what a fine house this is. I’m 
most certain I won’t know how to behave 
among such big rooms an^ fine things ; but 
you’ll pull me through, won’t you?” And 
Nellie gave a happy laugh, being full of 
affection for her cousins and feeling no 
envy of their greater possessions, nor 
shame for her own humbler but beloved 
home. 

” You’ll find New York very different, of 
course,” said Inez scornfully. She thought 
Nellie was even worse than she feared. 

But Marcy, with a share 'of Nellie’s hon- 
esty, and a sharpness of insight that made 
her see that true dignity lay in being free 
from false pretence, said heartily : “You’ll 
be all right, Nellie. I don’t suppose we’d 
know how to act in Kansas either.” 

“ Oh, I reckon Kansas, and Paris, and 
New York, and everywhere are about the 
same,” said Nellie with happy unconscious- 
ness of little things. “ Ma says if you’re 
good and try to make people happy you’re 
bound to have good manners.” 

Inez tossed her head. “You have to do 


26 


An Arrival. 


more than that,” she began ; but Marcy in- 
terrupted her. 

” No you don’t;” she said decidedly. ” 1 
never thought of it before ; but Aunt — Aunt 
— Nellie’s mother is right.” 

A look of pain came over Nellie’s face. 
” Why, don’t you know my mother’s name ?” 
she asked wonderingly. ” It's Mary. We 
know all your names, and we talk lots about 
you, and I’ve been dying to see you ever 
since I can remember.” 

“We never heard of you,” said Bob be- 
fore Marcy could stop him. “We never talk 
about you, and *I never thought before I had 
any cousins out West.” 

Nellie turned to the girls in mute ap- 
peal. 

Inez said ; “You see, Nellie, we’ve lots of 
things to think about.” 

But Marcy put her arm around her cousin. 
” Come to your room,” she said, ” and take 
your things off. I’ll show you the way. 
You see, Nellie,” she added as they went up 
the broad stairs side by side, ” father’s so 
busy we hardly see him ; and mamma is fond 
of society, and taken up with all kinds of 


An Arrival. 


27 


clubs and things, so we don’t hear much 
about our relations.” 

Nellie shivered as though she had stepped 
from Florida to the North Pole. ” It’s 
dreadful !” she cried. ” If that’s the way 
you do in New York, I’d rather live in Prai- 
rie Rest — that’s the name of our town. I 
suppose you didn’t know where we lived 
either. ” 

Marcy discreetly refrained from saying 
that she did not. ” It’s not New York, it’s 
just ourselves,” she said. “You know fa- 
ther made all his money ; he didn’t have any 
more than Uncle Tom when he began. I 
think the reason we live so separate from one 
another is because they’ve all got so taken 
up with money, and society, and such 
•things. ’ ’ 

“ Then I hope I’ll always be poor,” ex- 
claimed Nellie energetically. “ Oh, what a 
lovely room !” 

“ This is your room,” said Marcy. “ I 
don’t care one bit about parties, and know- 
ing fashionable people, and all that,” she 
continued, seating herself on the edge of the 
bed. “ Inez is the one for that. I mean to 


28 


An Arrival, 


be great and famous some way. I haven’t 
just decided how." 

" Yes, I know," said Nellie, taking her hat 
off and shaking a bright mass of waving 
brown hair over her shoulders. " You’re 
the clever one. Uncle Richard sent us some 
of your writings long ago, when you were 
little, and they were grand. T would give 
anything if I were so gifted. I can’t do one 
thing," Nellie continued cheerfully. " I can 
dust, and clean, and look after children, and 
cook a little bit, and darn pretty well, but I 
haven’t any accomplishments." 

" Oh, never mind," said Marcy with kind- 
ly condescension. " I should think those 
were good things too if there's no one else 
to do them. You won’t see much of me, I 
suppose, because out of school I like to stay 
by myself and write, or think, or draw. I’m 
not sure I shall write when I grow up. 1 
may be a great artist, or a very great actress, 
like Duse, you know." 

Well, ril tell you the only great thing 1 
ever thought I’d like to be," said Nellie, 
" and that is a great saint." 

" Oh !" exclaimed Marcy, staring a little. 


An Arrival. 


29 


“Are you pious? We’re not very pious 
here. We go to church, of course, ever}^ 
Sunday ; and we children go to convent 
schools, and we’re good Catholics, but we’re 
not thinking of being saints.” 

“ I don’t mean doing something wonder- 
ful,” explained Nellie. ” I mean being what 
pa calls a little cricket-on-the-hearth kind of 
saint — never thinking of yourself, or what 
you want at all, but trying to do something 
for others all the while, until every one feels 
as though they’d never be able to breathe 
another minute if you weren’t around. I 
think it’s simply grand to be that kind of per- 
son ; don’t you ?” 

” I never thought about it at all,” Marcy 
said honestly. ” I shouldn’t wonder if that 
would be a great thing if you thought it all 
out. Now I’m going to let you rest. Your 
trunk will be here soon, and we dine at seven. 
If you want anything, just ring or call 
Norah ; she’s generally at the end of this 
hall. Good-’oy for awhile,” and Marcy kissed 
her. 

“ I wonder where Aunt Clara is ?” thought 
Nellie. ” Nobody seemed to think it queer 


30 


An Arrival. 


she wasn’t around to see me. If they came 
out to Kansas, my, wouldn’t ma look after 
them ! Now, Nellie Merrick, stop that !” 
she added, shaking her head at two brown 
eyes that looked at her in the glass through 
a mist of tears. “ It’s simply grand here, 
and Marcy was very nice.” 


Humiliations, 


31 


CHAPTER III. 

HUMILIATIONS. 

Ne;llie had been just one week in her new 
surroundings, a week full of many new ex- 
periences for the little girl, and not a few 
trials. Her uncle had aroused himself from 
his preoccupation on the night of her arrival 
sufficiently to ask her about her father and 
her home, but beyond a pleasant salutation 
at breakfast and dinner he never again seemed 
conscious of her existence. Her aunt treat- 
ed her with polite indifference, if there be 
such a thing, and Inez snubbed her. Marcy 
exerted herself for three whole days to make 
her cousin comfortable, but after that, hav- 
ing grown accustomed to her presence, old 
habits reasserted themselves, and she fell back 
into her favorite pursuits, leaving Nellie to 
her own devices. 

The little girl, accustomed to the loving 


32 


Humiliatio?ts. 


intimacy of her simpler family life, had a 
hard time, and would have suffered more had 
it not been for the younger children. These 
regarded her as bees must regard a new and 
very honey-full variety of blossom. They 
never tired of hearing her talk of the mis- 
chievous brothers and sisters whom she had 
left in Prairie Rest, where, it seemed to 
them, life was as enchanting as a fairy tale. 

Bob no longer regretted that Nellie was 
not a boy when he found Out that she could 
bat straight and strong from her shoulder, 
throw a ball much straighter and swifter than 
he could, and heard her tell how she had rid- 
den xMazeppa, the lively three-year-old bay, 
barebacked, and clung so tight he could not 
throw her when he tried. Grace found a 
cousin of twelve could be more satisfactory 
than one of six when she discovered how 
beautifully Nellie could play house, what 
marvellous new games she invented, and 
what triumphs of skill her doll’s dress-mak- 
ing was. Sometimes Marcy, seeing how her 
younger brothers and sisters clung to Nellie, 
felt a faint pang of jealousy, half grudging the 
love she had never tried to win. In a vague. 


Humiliations. 


33 


far-off way new thoughts were beginning to 
form in Marcy’s active brain since Nellie came. 

School was a great trial to Nellie. It was 
no small ordeal to face all those fashionably 
dressed, chattering girls, whose difference 
from herself she was not slow to feel. Nor 
did it console her after the first day to find 
that she knew a great deal more than they 
did, for the girls did not seem to think it the 
slightest consequence, and made the most 
absurd mistakes in recitations with unruffled 
serenity. 

On the fourth day of her visit the Hales, 
whose criticism Inez had dreaded, came to 
call on the new cousin. Nellie, accustomed 
to little girls coming to see her like children, 
gave her abundant hair two hasty strokes, and 
turned from the glass ready to go down, with- 
out even taking off the little black alpaca 
apron, which, to Inez’s disgust, she wore 
about the house to protect the front of her 
dress. 

“You can’t go down like that, Nellie,” 
cried Inez sharply. “ Change your dress 
and look your best; the Hales have lots of 
money. ” 


34 


Humiliations. 


“ Well, but 1 haven’t,” said Nellie won- 
deringly. ” I don’t see why I must wear my 
best dress. ’ ’ 

” I can’t stop to talk ; but you must do it. 
I’ll go down, and you come with Marcy, and 
for mercy’s sake don’t say anything queer,” 
cried Inez impatiently. 

“ Now, 1 wonder,” Nellie began to say, 
but checked herself, obediently put on her 
plain best dress, and was ready when Marcy 
came. 

“ Happy to meet you. Miss Merrick,” 
murmured two very stylishly dressed, be- 
crimped, and bedecked girls as they were in- 
troduced to Nellie. Their faces were thin, 
their voices shrill, they were little girls in 
years, but had the air of full-blown young 
ladies : no greater contrast to them could 
have been found than Nellie’s rosy face and 
childish air. 

“ Do you care for the theatre, Miss Mer 
rick asked the elder, scanning with inward 
wonder ” poor Inez’s queer cousin. ’ 

I never went,” answered Nellie. ” The 
girls say we shall go Saturday afternoon, and 
I can’t wait.” 


Humiliations. 


35 


I suppose you don’t have much worth 
seeing where you live,” said Rose Hale. 

” They have grand plays in Kansas City,” 
said Nellie ; ” and Prairie Rest — that’s my 
home — is only an hour’s ride away. Most 
people go there when there’s something fine ; 
but I don’t.” 

“Must be tiresome,” murmured Jennie 
Hale, while Inez vainly tried to think of 
something to say, dreading Nellie's candor. 

“ Oh ! my, no,” Nellie said cheerfully. 
“ It’s not that. I just love riding in the 
cars ; but we can’t afford to go. The thea- 
tre tickets and the fare would be too much 
for us ; the round trip to Kansas City, excur- 
sion ticket, costs ninety-four cents, and of 
course I wouldn’t go unless my sister and 
eldest brother could go, and it would cost a 
lot ; so we all stay at home and act Shake- 
speare in the barn chamber.” 

Inez was crimson and ready to cry with 
mortification at this speech, while Marcy’s 
eyes danced with fun as she looked from 
Nellie’s unconscious face to the shocked 
expression of the Hales and her sister’s 
agon}^ 


36 


Humiliatio?is, 


“Dear me!” murmured the elder Hale. 
” How peculiar !” 

” Shakespeare was an English poet,” 
Marcy said wickedly. “ Indeed, he was the 
greatest of English poets. I thought you 
mightn’t understand what my cousin meant 
by ‘ acting Shakespeare.’ ” 

” You poor girls ; it’s awfully hard on you 
to have to teach her our ways,” the Hales 
said to Marcy and Inez, who followed them 
to the door. 

Inez almost sobbed. ” I feel so morti- 
fied,” she began ; but Marcy cut her short. 
” If only she could teach us,” she said. 
"You can hardly appreciate them, 1 suppose, 
but she has such perfect manners, and never 
tries for one moment to be anything but her 
honest self.” 

“ Marcy,” said Inez after their guests had 
gone, " I’ll die of shame if Nellie Merrick 
goes on like this. Think of telling the Hales 
she was too poor to go to the theatre ’ It’ll 
be all over New York.” 

"Not quite,” retorted Marcy. “The 
trouble is Nellie’s too nice for such snobs. 
Can’t you see they were just as horrid and 


Humiliations. 


37 


rude as they could be ? And there’s one 
thing certain, Inez Merrick, I’d stand up for 
my own cousin in my own house if I were 
you,” 

” Well, look at her dresses,” sighed Inez, 
changing her complaint. 

” Yes,” replied Marcy, ” I have been look* 
ing at them, and I’m going to ask papa to 
give her what she needs.” 

The result of Marcy’s appeal to her father 
was that Nellie went to the matin6e on Sat- 
urday clad in the prettiest little fur-trimmed 
jacket, a hat so delightful that it grieved her 
to be obliged to take it off and lay it on her 
knee, and withjier face shining with the ex- 
citement of her first theatre-going and her 
fashionable raiment. From the moment the 
curtain rose she was lost to everything 
around her ; indeed, so completely lost that 
even Marcy’s indifference to the opinion of 
the world was destined to receive a severe 
shock. The play was a war drama, as excit- 
ing as it well could be, and in the third act 
the heroine was in mortal danger at the 
hands of the villain, and Nellie, forgetting 
everything in the anguish of the moment. 


38 


Humiliations. 


rose in her seat and cried aloud : “ Oh, save 
her ! save her !” 

Her cousins clutched her skirts, and had 
her down again in an instant ; but it had been 
done, and every one who sat near them 
looked at blushing Nellie and laughed. 

“ ni never go out with her again — never,'’ 
protested Inez with tears in her eyes. 

What’s the use of getting things to make 
her look like other people if she’s going to 
act that way ?” 

But she did go out with Nellie again, and 
that in a few days. The three girls were in- 
vited to a luncheon party, and at the last mo- 
ment Marcy had too severe a cold to go with 
them. 

“ Do your best and watch other people,” 
advised Marcy, to whom Nellie confided her 
fear of not knowing the right thing to do. 
“ Don’t bother with Inez too much, or she’ll 
make you crazy. You’ll have better man- 
ners than most of them, because you don’t try 
to be finicky ; and if they don’t know it, so 
much the worse for them.” 

So Nellie went away comforted ; but the 
party could hardly have been called a success. 


Humiliations, 


39 


Inez came to Marcy after their return in a 
towering rage. “ It’s simply awful, Mar- 
cella Merrick,” she sobbed. “ I’ll never be 
able to hold my head up again.” 

Now, what is it?” asked Marcy, both 
amused and anxious. 

“ Well, there’s no use talking about Nel- 
lie’s taking the wrong fork for her salad, and 
not knowing how to use her finger-bowl, and 
saying ’ No, thank you,’ and ‘ If you please,’ 
to the waiter, though I thought that was bad 
enough when she did it ; but when Mrs. 
Greene asked her if she wouldn’t have some 
mushrooms she said, ‘ I don’t know what 
they are,’ instead of taking some and keep- 
ing still. And another time, when Mrs. 
Greene said : ‘ I hope you are fond of choco- 
late cake ; I think most little people are, ’ Nel- 
lie said : ‘ Yes, ma’am, 1 am. My mother 
makes it perfectly delicious, and she can never 
make enough for us children. She says she 
should like to have a girl just to make choco- 
late cake, if ever we get rich. But,’ she said, 

‘ I’ve learned to make it now, so ma won’t 
have to do it all. 

“What did the rest do?” asked Marcy, 


40 


Humiliations. 


half-laughing, but looking vexed too, for 
these things sounded worse when repeated 
than when one saw Nellie’s cheerful sim- 
plicity in saying them. 

“ The Hales laughed, and May Vander- 
berg tossed her head, but Madeleine Greene 
gave them a look and said : ‘ Isn’t that fun ? 
Lots of the girls go to cooking-school, but 
it’s much nicer to learn at home. I think it 
must be lovely to live in the country ; you 
can’t do such things in the big city houses.’ ” 

“ 1 always did say Madeleine Greene was 
the truest lady of all the girls,” said Marcy 
warmly. 

” Well, I’ll never, never, never go any- 
where with Nellie Merrick again ! I never 
was so humiliated in my life,” sobbed Inez in 
a burst of angry tears. 

“You needn’t go with her,” said Marcy. 
“ I’ll take her about till she gets used to 
things. 1 don’t mind so much, because I 
think there’s something wrong somewhere, 
only I can’t quite explain what I mean. I 
think Nellie needn’t tell so much to strangers, 
but it’s far nicer than pretending every min- 
ute, like the Hales and May Vanderberg. 


Humiliations, 


41 


However, I’ll go out with her all the time and 
I’ll look after her.” 

Poor Marcy ! She little dreamed how near 
lay the end of her happy days, and how 
short would be the time when her gay 
young feet could carry her whither she 
would. 


42 


The End of Ereaming. 


CHAPTER IV. 

THE END OF DREAMING. 

Marcy’s first waking thought on All 
Saints’ Day was that, being a holiday, there 
would be no school, and after Mass she 
should have nothing to do all day long but 
write her tragedy. She had begun a novel 
and an epic poem on Joan of Arc but a few 
weeks before, and had several other great 
works started, but now she was fired with 
the desire to write a tragedy and longed to 
begin. 

Inez said Marcy did things “ by fits and 
starts — mostly starts,” which was her way of 
stating that the genius of the family under- 
took more than she fulfilled. 

“ Now, Nellie, I’m going to write a play 
to-day,” said Marcy as she took off berthings 
and smoothed her rumpled braid on their re- 
turn from church. I’m going to the ob- 


The End of Dreaming, 


43 


servatory, and I want to be let alone. Will 
you keep the children away ?” 

“ Of course/' said Nellie, impressed by 
this announcement. “ What kind of a play 
will it be, Marcy ?” 

‘ ‘ It’s to be a tragedy. 1 don’t know yet 
what the plot will be, but it will be the sad 
story of the loveliest maiden you ever saw or 
heard of. She’s to be lovely — oh ! more love- 
ly than 1 can say,” replied Marcy, waving 
the pencil she was sharpening in a circle, as 
if to signify a loveliness that embraced every- 
thing. ” I don’t care so much about the 
plot, but I do want a nice name for her, and 
1 may have to think hours before 1 can find 
one. ” 

Marcy took her pad and pencil and a box 
of candy, and bidding Nellie good-by, start- 
ed up to the top of the house. 

The former owner had evidently been fond 
of star-gazing, for he had built an observa- 
tory on the roof, and here Marcy liked to 
establish herself when the sun was not too 
hot nor the wind too cold. She had piled 
several soft pillows and shawls in one corner, 
and it certainly made a nook that a greater 


44 


The End of Dreaming. 


poet than Marcy might have envied, though 
the delight of lazily watching the fleecy 
clouds drift by was apt to drive all thoughts 
of her great schemes from the little girl’s 
brain. 

She had been here scarcely more than half 
an hour when Inez’s voice was heard calling 
her soitly from the foot of the stairs. 

Marcy gathered herself up and opened the 
small door, looking rather crossly down 
the steep flight of steps that led to her 
retreat. 

“ Nellie told me you wanted to • be let 
alone, Marcy,” Inez began apologetically ; 
“ but it’s too good for you to miss. We’ve 
got a street fiddler in the gymnasium, and 
we’re dancing ; come on down.” 

Marcy could never resist the temptation to 
dance. She quickly closed the door behind 
her and ran down to join the others. She 
found a picturesque Italian boy standing in 
the corner and showing his teeth, while 
Grace was teaching Nellie to waltz, and Bob 
was trying to dance in a ladylike manner, 
with Hugh for partner. 

“ How did you do it ?” demanded Marcy, 


The End of Dreaming. 


45 


getting her arm around Inez without loss of 
time. “ Where’s Norah ?” 

" Norah has gone with mamma to take 
Lucy down-town to have her pictures taken. 
We brought the boy in by the front door, 
and nobody saw us,” Inez replied as they 
caught the right beat and began to waltz. 

It was twelve o’clock before they thought 
of stopping dancing, and then they emptied 
their purses into the pockets of the young 
street musician, who rarely did such a good 
day’s work as that short time had proved. 

After luncheon Inez went out, and Marcy 
and Nellie stopped in the gymnasium on their 
way up-stairs. 

“ I don’t see how boys can use those bars 
and rings, do you ?” said Nellie, surveying 
the appointments of the gymnasium admir- 
ingly. 

” Boys ! Pooh ! I can beat Bob at the 
exercise,” exclaimed Marcy contemptuously. 

* ’ I never did gym exercise for you, did I ? 
You wait here till I get my suit on, and I'll 
show you something.” 

Marcy ran away, leaving Nellie to spread 
the pads for the floor as she had direct- 


46 


The End of Dreaming. 


ed. In a few moments a little figure all in 
red ran into the room and made a bow to left 
and right, like a performer in the ring. 

Nellie exclaimed in delight. She thought 
that she had never seen anything so 
pretty. 

Marcy wore a tight-fitting crimson woollen 
tunic that fell to her knees, trimmed with 
tiny lines of black fur, full Turkish trou- 
sers of the crimson gathered around her slen- 
der ankles, and her black-stockinged feet 
looked very small under the fur band above 
them, and her long dark hair fell loosely on 
her shoulders, surmounted by a jaunty crim- 
son cap set saucily on one side. 

Marcy ran across the gymnasium, sprang, 
caught a ring, pulled herself up, and swung 
gayly through the air, looking like a magni- 
fied Baltimore oriole. Giving herself a long, 
hard swing, she caught the bar, and did all 
kinds of things upon it till she was tired, and 
sat on it, swinging contentedly, her feet 
crossed and her lips parted with her quick- 
ened breath, while her cheeks glowed as red 
as her dress under her long hair. 

“ It’s splendid !” cried Nellie. “ 1 never 


The End of Dreaming. 47 

knew you were so strong. Isn't the exercise 
fun?” 

” Oh, it’s beautiful. The doctor said I 
was getting round-shouldered, so papa had 
this put in. I'll tell you something, Nellie. 
Sometimes I think I’d like this to be the 
great thing I do in my life,” said Marcy. 

“Gymnastics?” asked Nellie, rather puz- 
zled. 

“Oh, no, I don't mean just that; but — 
well, do you suppose it would be awful to go 
in the circus?” asked Marcy. 

“ Why, Marcy ! Of course,” said Nellie 
promptly. 

“ Well, sometimes I think I’d like to have 
a beautiful horse, and run and jump on his 
back, and do all sorts of strong, splendid 
things, and have the band playing, and the 
crowd cheering,” said Marcy, looking rather 
ashamed, but nodding her head emphatically 
as she swung. 

“ Why, they say it’s an awful life, and the 
people are rough who do these things,” Nel- 
lie began. 

” Oh, well. I’d be a lady- like circus girl, 
of course,” said Marc3\ “ But I suppose I 


48 The End of Dreamitig. 

shouldn’t really like it. Look out, I’m com- 
ing down.” 

“ Don’t fall, Marcy,” cried Nellie anx 
iously. 

“ Fall ! I never fall,” laughed Marcy. 
” Here goes.” She swung herself harder, 
threw herself towards a pair of rings, caught 
them dexterously, and dropped to the mat- 
tress, where she turned a hand somersault, 
and came up bowing and smiling like the 
acrobats in the circus. ” Don’t tell about 
the somersault,” she said as soon as she could 
speak. ‘ ‘ Mamma might think that was 
rough, and I only practise that when I’m 
alone. Now I must go up-stairs and write 
that tragedy ; I haven’t done one thing all 
day. Good-by,” and waving her hands. 
Marcy ran into the hall and disappeared up 
the stairs like a red spark up the chimney. 

Marcy opened the door of the observatory 
and dropped down among her cushions with 
a happy sigh. 

” How nice it is to be alive !” she said 
aloud. ” How lovely to dance, and jump, 
and run, and then how loveliest it is to think, 
and dream, and lie still, and watch the clouds ! 


The End of Dreaming. 


49 


But I mustn’t watch the clouds now, 1 must 
write. I don’t believe it makes much differ- 
ence about the characters in a tiagedy, for I 
looked all through the books in the library, 
and 1 found some have lots and some have, 
very few : so I’ll just write ahead, and when- 
ever I need a new one I’ll put it in, and make 
a list afterwards. I’m going to call this trag-- 
edy ‘ Cruel Fate,’ because it sounds nice, and 
might mean anything ; and I don’t know yet 
what it will be about. Only it will be about 
this lovely, lovely princess, and I wish I 
knew a name nice enough for her ; I must 
think one out, and I must make up my mind 
what she’s to be like. Oh, dear ! I don’t 
know whether to have her a princess with 
hair like spun gold or black as a raven’s 
wing, I think she’d better have dark hair, 
because it suits an unfortunate person better. 
I’ll write the name any way.” 

So Marcy wrote in her fairest hand at the 
head of her blank page, “ Cruel Fate,” then 
she settled herself back and looked up at the 
floating clouds, turning over in her mind all 
the most beautiful names she had ever heard 
in the vain effort to discover one which 


50 


The End of Dreaming. 


should express all the lovely qualities of 
mind, and soul, and body with which she in- 
tended to endow her heroine. 

Gradually her thoughts wandered to her 
own future, and she fell to building castles 
in the air of the fine deeds she would do. 
First of all, she imagined this tragedy finished 
and acted before a great audience, which 
went mad with delight over the beauty of 
the piece, and called for the author ; and she 
bowed unconsciously, fancying herself re- 
sponding to this call, and stepping from her 
box before the curtain. Or perhaps she 
should act the part of the heroine herself, 
and she pictured the enthusiasm rising to a 
tremendous pitch as the audience showered 
with flowers the gifted creature who could 
write and act such glorious things. Or, 
again, perhaps Nellie was right, and it was" 
best to give up all thought of glory and live' 
for others ; and Marcy imagined her father 
beggared by some sudden reverse of fortune, 
and that she came forward, saying nobly, 
" Never mind, father, I will be your comfort 
and help. I will lay aside all my hopes ot 
fame, and will work for you and the chil- 


The End of Dreaming. 


5 ^ 


dren and she wondered if she would be 
willing to take a position as a saleswoman in 
one of the big stores for the sake of her 
family. 

Poor Marcy had no notion of doing hum- 
drum duties day by day, and all her ideas 
were colored by fancy rather than facts. In 
the mean time the setting sun rested warm on 
the observatory, and her previous exercise 
made Marcy rather drowsy. Her fancies 
grew less and less distinct, and gradually the 
dark lashes drooped, her head fell over on 
her pad, and the would-be tragic author was 
fast asleep on the blank page whereon was 
written, like a prophecy, the last word her 
hand was to pen for many a day — ‘ ‘ Cruel 
Fate.” 

y/The sun went down in a blaze of crimson 
and golden splendor, and Marcy did not 
waken. The bell that warned the household 
that they had half an hour in which to get 
ready for dinner penetrated her brain dimly, 
reaching her in her high perch like a faint 
echo of real life ; but it was enough to arouse 
her to partial consciousness. Following in- 
stinct rather than thought— for she was not 


52 


The End of Dreaming. 


fully awake — Marcy arose to her feet, gath- 
ered up her pad and pencil, staggered to the 
door of the observatory, opened it, and the 
next instant the household was startled by 
the sound of a heavy fall. 

The nursery was the room nearest the ob- 
servatory stairs, and Norah was the first to 
reach the little crimson and black heap lying 
motionless at their foot. 

“ O Miss Marcy ! my darling !" cried 
poor Norah, trembling so that she scarcely 
dared lift the hand nearest her. 

Marcy groaned as she touched her, and 
the entire family, that had by this time gath- 
ered with horror-stricken faces around her, 
uttered a sigh of gratitude that at least she 
was still alive. 

“No bones broken,” said the doctor later, 
as he examined the poor little body, but a few 
hours before flying through the air in the 
gymnasium, so full of strength and life. ‘ ‘ No 
■one can be sure yet whether it is brain or 
spine ; we must wait till she becomes con- 
scious. It is an internal injury, and, I fear, 
serious.” 

Night settled in awful stillness over the 


The End of Dreaming. 


53 


Merricks’ house. In all of great New York 
there seemed to be but one living thing, and 
that was the figure on Marcy’s bed, lying mo- 
tionless and still but for an occasional groan, 
the dark hair falling around a face not less 
white than the pillow, on which even the few 
hours that had passed had set the mark of 
pain in the blue eyelids and drawn lips. 


54 


The Beginning of Livings 


CHAPTER V. 

THE BEGINNING OF LIVING. 

A WEEK passed with no change in Marcy's 
condition, but each of the seven days wrought 
its work in the Merrick family. Mr. Merrick 
forgot business altogether m his absorbing 
anxiety and grief, and Mrs. Merrick clung to 
her other children with a tenderness they had 
never felt in her before as she waited in tense 
dread to know the fate of her eldest, clever- 
est, and now, at least, her dearest child. 
Inez realized that she had never loved her 
sister half enough, and that there were other 
qualities more precious than knowledge of 
social propriety ; for it was to Nellie — brave, 
pious, cheerful, kind Nellie to whom she 
turned for the only comfort she could get dur- 
ing these dark days. At last, on the eighth 
day, Marcy opened her eyes wonderingly on 
the world, smiled at the tear- wet faces around 


The Beginning of Living, 


55 


her, and fell asleep, and the three solemn 
doctors standing in consultation around her 
-bed said that she would live. But followinof 
quickly on the joy of this verdict came the 
sorrow of hearing that, though Marcy would 
not die, she would never again be the bright, 
gay Marcy of old ; that the injury was to the 
spine, and that the most that could be hoped 
for her was the suffering of a cripple through 
all the long coming years. 

It was a hard saying, and her father and 
mother shrank from looking in the face the 
dreadful fate which had fallen on Marcy. 
Yet what must be borne must be, and each 
of the Merricks, in his or her way, tried to 
adjust themselves to a sorrow that at times 
seemed more bitter than if Marcy had died. 

The only thing to do now was to nurse 
the poor child back to such health as might 
be hers, and keep from her the knowledge 
that never again would she run about, a 
happy creature on the happy earth. But it 
was not easy to deceive Marcy. As the days 
passed and she grew stronger she felt the 
sorrow in the air, and looked with eyes made 
big and hollow by pain from face to face, try- 


56 The Beginning of Living, 

ing to penetrate the grief she saw written on 
them. 

“ Tm getting better, Norah?'' she asked 
one day. “ Truly, Norah, 1 am better. 
Don’t you think so? 1 shan’t die, shall I, 
Norah ?” 

“ Die, alanna !” cried Norah, with a dis- 
mal attempt at gayety ; ‘ ‘ not you. Of course 
you’re better ; and I only wish I was as sure 
of living as many j^ears as you are. And 
that’s true. God help you, darling, and help 
us all, that we almost have to wish you 
weren’t,” added Norah under her breath. 

But Marcy was not satisfied. One day 
Grace was left alone with her, very proud to 
be so trusted, and sat like a faithful little dog 
with her brown eyes fastened on Marcy’s 
face, ready to jump if she saw any sign of 
her wanting anything. 

“ Gracie, come here,” Marcy whispered. 

Grace sprang up quickly and knelt by 
Marcy’s face, obedient to the motion of her 
finger. 

” Tell me the truth, Gracie,” Marcy said, 
still in a whisper. ” Have you heard them 
say anything about me ?” 


The Beginning of Living, 


57 


I don’t know,” Grade stammered. 

” H’sh ! not so loud. Yes, you know. 
Grade. You must tell sister Marcy just the 
truth. Am I going to die ?” • 

” No, Marcy, you’re not going to die,” 
answered Grace, relieved to be able to say 
something good. 

“Honest, Grace? Maybe they don’t tell 
you,” Marcy said. 

“ Yes — no ; but I heard them talking. 
You’re not going to die ” 

Grace stopped so suddenly that Marcy 
seized her little hand. 

“ Then what is it ? When shall I be well ? 
When shall 1 get up, and go to school, and 
dance, and everything?” cried Marcy, 
the dread that had been haunting her 
more than the fear of death clutching her 
heart. 

Grace only sobbed. 

“You mustn’t ask me anything ; I’m not 
to tell you,” cried the poor little thing in 
great distress. 

“ Grace, tell me, shall I ever be well 
again ?” 

Grace shook her head. 


58 


The Beginning of Living. 


“ Never !” cried Marcy sharply, forget- 
ting her fear of being overheard. 

Not never," wailed Grace, and Marcy ’s 
clasp of her wrist relaxed. 

" All right, Gracie," she said in a queer, 
husky voice ; “ you were a good child to tell 
me the truth. I’ll go to sleep now." 

And Grace crept back to her chair, re- 
lieved that Marcy took the news so quietly. 

But from that day Marcy did not mend ; 
she lay with closed eyes, getting thinner and 
paler, scarcely speaking, but trying, poor 
child, to face her awful doom alone, and say 
good-by in silence to youth and life when she 
was but twelve. She did not dare ask any 
one just how bad her lot was to be, but she 
pictured herself lying as she then was for 
years and years, while the children grew up, 
and her father and mother and Norah died, 
and she grew old in her little bed, worse off 
than the prisoners whose pictures she had 
seen, working on the roads in chains. At 
last she could endure her thoughts no longer. 

" Nellie,” she said one day, " shut the 
door and sit here by me." 

Nellie obeyed. For a few moments Marc) 


The Beginning of Living. 


59 


did not speak, then she opened her eyes and 
looked into Nellie’s rosy, healthy face. 

“You look so well,” she said. “ I know ; 
Gracie told me, Nellie.” 

Nellie looked frightened. 

“ Told you ?“ she began, and stopped. 

“ Told me I should never be better,” said 
Marcy, and two big tears ran down her 
cheeks. 

Nellie was shocked, but rallied with great 
presence of mind. 

“ But that isn’t true, Marcy dear,” she 
said. 

“ Don’t fool me, Nellie ; I couldn’t bear 
that,” Marc}^ cried. 

“ I’ll tell you just the truth,” said Nellie. 
“ You will be better. The doctor says you 
may be able to lie in an invalid’s chair by 
Christmas, but you won’t ever be as strong 
as before you were hurt.” 

“ If she only won’t ask me if she will ever 
walk !” thought Nellie. 

Marcy looked at her. 

“ That’s something, but it isn’t much,” she 
said slowly. “I’ll be an invalid, won’t I, 
Nellie?” 


6o The Beginning of Living. 

"Yes, I suppose you will," Nellie an- 
swered gently ; " but all invalids are not 
much invalids. You can’t tell how much 
better you will be." 

" And all those splendid things I was going 
to be and do ! Invalids are no use," said 
Marcy. . 

“ Now, Marcy, I think you can do more 
splendid things than you ever dreamed of," 
said Nellie. 

"You mean I can be patient and good. 
Well, but I am not good, and all that is no 
use," said poor Marcy. 

" Indeed, it is," cried Nellie. " Oh, I 
believe you’re not getting better just because 
you aren’t hoping for anything ! Why, you 
can have the most wonderful life, and do the 
most splendid things even though you are 
shut up here. I can’t explain, but I know 
you can just be grand, and the most use of 
anybody in the whole house." 

Marcy closed her eyes wearily. 

" Perhaps," she said, and Nellie went 
away, having an idea in her busy brain which 
she meant to carry out at once. 

From the first of her coming to New York 


The Beginning of Living. 6r 

Nellie had been a prime favorite with Father 
Glenn, the kindly, gray-haired priest who 
came occasionally to see the Merricks. To 
him Nellie repaired, and laid before him 
Marcy’s case. 

“ So you think she wants something to 
live for,” he said, smiling down on the ear- 
nest, little, round face. “ I suspect you are 
right, Nellie. It is pretty hard for any one 
to live without hope. I’ll go to see Marcy 
to-morrow, and we will see if we cannot help 
the poor little soul to face her martyrdom 
with courage.” 

Father Glenn was a busy man, but he 
made time that night to write a little story 
especially for Marcy. With this in his 
pocket he rang the Merricks’ bell, and went 
up to the room where Marcy lay. Norah 
slipped out when he entered, and he drew 
his chair up to the bedside, and holding the 
thin, white hand, talked gently to Marcy, 
telling her stories, and watching the pinched 
face, from which he could win no look of in- 
terest beyond a wan smile for politeness’ 
sake. At last he said : 

” Well, Marcy, I could find it in my heart 


62 


llie Beginning of Living. 


to envy you. It is not all of us who get our 
wishes so perfectly fulfilled as you are to 
have yours.’' 

Marcy opened her eyes. 

“ I, Father Glenn?” she said. 

” Yes, you. Why, you always wanted to 
lead some sort of a great and wonderful life, 
and now you can. And you hoped to be 
able to write great poems, and now you will 
have a chance not merely to write them, but 
be one 3^ourself. ” 

“I’m never going to be anything now, 
Father ; I’ll never be well,” said Marcy, 
and her voice trembled. 

“ I’ve written a little wee bit of a story, 
Marc}^ dear. Will 3*011 let me read it to 3’ou, 
and tell me what you think of it?” was 
Father Glenn’s onl3^ answer. 

He pulled his manuscript out of his pocket 
as Marcy moved her head on the pillow a 
little nearer him, and began to read : 

“ Once upon a time there was a garden, 
which was full of the most beautiful bright 
flowers. But though the flowers were all 
very gay, and nodded in the breeze, and 
made a fine displa3^ in the garden, not one 


The Beginning of Living. 


63 


bore any honey nor had any perfume. So 
the garden was not a very useful garden, 
and in spite of its beauty the gardener was 
sad when he looked at it, because it yielded 
no sweetness or no food for the bees, nor did 
the birds love to hover over it. One day 
there came up in a shady, out-of-the-way 
corner a tiny white blossom. It grew near 
the ground, and did not stand up tall and 
brave like the other flowers ; indeed, no one 
walking through the garden would have 
seen it at all. But after it began to grow 
there quietly and humbly all the air was full 
of fragrance, and the birds and bees went 
out of their way to pass the garden, and hav- 
ing passed it, they would fly back again, and 
hover around that corner of the garden where 
the little white blossom was hidden ; and soon 
all the air got musical with the song of birds 
and hum of bees where no birds or bees had 
ever been before. And the strangest part of 
it all was that, tiny as it was, this little blos- 
som, and though it was hidden away in a 
dark corner, it was so full of honey and fra- 
grance that it not only fed and rejoiced the 
bees and birds itself, but it shed its sweetness 


64 


The Begimiing of Living. 


on all the other flowers, and they began to 
grow sweet, too ; and the garden that had 
been but a garden of gorgeous colors and 
flaunting blossoms became so fragrant that 
the gardener smiled as he looked on it, and 
said : ‘ Blessings on the little hidden, frail 
white blossom, for it has transformed my 
useless garden into a garden of delight.' " 

“ It is a sweet story. Father," said Marcy 
as he ended ; " but how ?" 

Father Glenn smiled, well pleased. 

" I see you understand the little allegory, 
jMarcy," he said. “ How are you to be like 
this little blossom, do you mean ?” 

" Yes, Father," said Marcy. " You see, I 
never was anybody before I fell, and 1 don’t 
see how I can be anything now." 

" You have gained one thing," said the 
kind priest. " I doubt if one little girl would 
have been willing once to admit that she was 
nobody. Now I’ll tell you, my dear, how 
3 ^ou can be the happiest, cleverest, most use- 
ful little lassie in all this big city. You know, 
Marcy, this has been a household where 
everybody went his own way. You can be 
the link to draw them together. You can 


The Beginning of Living. 


65 


always be ready with needle and thread for 
any little service. You can be ready to listen 
to everybody’s troubles, and help them 
through them. You can read to the chil- 
dren, and play with them. You can show 
the boys how lovely a good, sweet girl is, 
and they will be better men for knowing it ; 
and when they grow older the thought of 
their loving, pure sister will keep them away 
from many a danger of which you will never 
know. And you can coax your father into 
sitting with you and reading to you, until 
he gets into the habit of living close to his 
children, and enjoying them as much as they 
will enjoy him ; and you can do all this 
merely by being unselfish, putting all your- 
self away, and living for others. Your mis- 
fortune can be the greatest blessing, for when 
anything goes wrong Marcy will be at her 
post, and when anybody needs a service or 
sympathy, they will know where to find 
Marcy. And you can make this room a 
blessed little chapel, like the churches in the 
early days, when men were wild and revenge 
was in every man’s own hand ; for then the 
churches were sanctuaries, and whoever took 


66 


The Beginning of Living. 


refuge in them was safe. So your room can 
be the refuge of all you love, and this little 
white hand can change and hold together all 
the lives of the rest of the household. And 
so I say, although all this would not prevent 
your writing great poems, if the talent was 
yours, still you can surely do something 
much finer. You can make your whole life 
a poem, and your dreams can be fulfilled 
and far surpassed.'' 

Marcy’s cheeks were flushed when Father 
Glenn ceased speaking, and her eyes were 
bright. 

“ I’ve been praying to die," she said, ‘ ‘ but 
if I can do all this I won't mind living." 

" That’s my brave girl," said the priest 
heartil}^ " You mustn’t pray to die. You 
will have many a weary hour of discourage- 
ment, but never mind. When you feel thus 
do something for somebody, and don’t think 
about poor, little, wounded Marcy at all." 

" Nellie can help me ; she’s that kind of 
girl. She does all those things for her broth- 
ers and sisters, and is well, too. Isn’t that 
better?" said Marcy wistfully. 

Neither better nor worse, but much 


The Beginnifig of Living. 


67 


easier,” said Father Glenn. “You have a 
harder, higher place to fill, because you will 
keep nothing for yourself. You try the plan, 
Marcy, and a year from now we shall see a 
real poem called Marcella Merrick — a poem 
of a brave, unselfish life, the patient bearing 
of a heavy cross. Good-by, dear little girl ; 
don’t think 1 am not very sorry that you 
have such a hard burden to bear.” 

But Marcy smiled brightly. 

” Don’t be sorr}^ Father Glenn,” she said. 
” ril try to be like the flower that was so 
little and plain, but made one spot sweet. 
And I guess it was a happy flower, don’t 
you ?” 

” I am sure it was,” said the old priest, 
laying his hand on her dark hair. ' ‘ God 
bless you, dear. I think instead of dying 
you are just beginning to live.” 


68 


Little 2'hings. 


CHAPTER VI. 

LITTLE THINGS. 

Papa, won’t you send Hugh down for 
your paper, and let me read to you ?” asked 
Marcy when her father made his regular 
visit to her that evening. 

“ You can’t read, my daughter,” said Mr. 
Merrick. 

” Oh, yes, -I can,” said Marcy, with a touch 
of her old mischief. “ I’ve learned to read — 
truly, papa. You’d really be surprised if 
you knew how advanced I am for a little girl 
of my age.” 

Of course she obtained her desire, and Mr. 
Merrick found the first alleviation of his sor- 
row in listening to the clear little voice, 
grown a bit tremulous, going over the report 
of the stock market most conscientiously, 
pausing for prompting on the hard words. 

” Will you come every night, papa dear. 


Little Things. 


69 


and let me read ?” Marcy asked, drawing his 
head down for a goodnight kiss. '‘And 
will you explain things to me, and make me 
understand all about politics and money and 
everything ? You see, if I am to do without 
my feet, and depend on my head for pleasure, 
it ought to be a very good one, and you 
must fill it with sense." 

" Dear little Marcy," said her father huski- 
ly, " have you found out that you may have 
to depend on your head for pleasure ? I’ll 
come certainly, and I’ll do all 1 can to give 
you happiness, my poor little girl. But you 
are better, Marcy ; you seem brighter and 
more like yourself. I have really enjoyed 
my hour with you.’’ 

“ That’s what I want," cried Marcy de- 
lighted. “I’m not much better yet, papa, 
but I mean to try to be a great deal better." 

The next morning Marcy heard furious 
stamping and roars of wrathful misery from 
the next room. 

“ That’s no one on earth but Hugh," she 
said to herself, and called, " Hugh ! Hugh \ 
come here. What is the matter ?" 

“ Plague take this old tie !’’ said Hugh, ap- 


70 


Little Things. 


pearing in the doorway, very red of face, 
with a plaid Windsor tie dragging dejectedly 
in his hand. " Norah’s oft somewhere, and 
I called and called Nellie, and I can’t find 
her. I can’t tie this old tie, and I’ll be late 
for school.” 

” If that’s all, I can help you. Come here, 
small boy ; I’ll tie it for you,” said Marcy, 
turning on her side as much as she could, for 
she could not raise herself in bed. 

Hugh marched over to her, and as her 
skilful fingers gave a deft pull here, and a 
pat and poke there, the scowl disappeared 
from his forehead, and the red faded from 
his cheek. 

” There, give me a kiss in payment,” said 
Marcy. “Trot along now, and the next 
time you want anything, come to Marcy, and 
she’ll do it for you. ” 

” You’re awful nice, Marcy,” said Hugh, 
giving her a squeeze that nearly made her 
shriek with pain, but was welcome none the 
less. ” I think you’re nicer than any one, 
and 1 never knew it till now.” 

” There’s one little bee after honey,” 
thought Marcy, tired, but smiling as she 


Little Things. 71 

remembered Father Glenn's story of the 
garden. 

Presently she heard a plaintive little voice 
outside her door singing in a kind of chant : 
“ I wis I had some one to play wiz. I wis I 
had some one to play wiz." 

" Lulie, come in here," called Marcy. 
** I’ll play with you." 

" How can you?" demanded Lucy, com- 
ing in with her doll — " how can you play 
fen you’re hurted so badily, Marcy? Good- 
morning," she added as an afterthought. 

" Good-morning," replied Marcy. " I 
can play lots of things." 

" House ?’’ asked Lucy, brightening at the 
prospect. 

" House, and having company, and going 
travelling, and heaps of things," said Marcy ; 
and the eldest and youngest member of the 
Merrick family began to play without loss of 
time, and to Marcy’s surprise she really en- 
joyed it. 

" Now, Marcy, let’s betend you was sick, 
and I’m your nurse, and must tell you a 
story to ’muse you," said Lucy, climbing on 
the bed, and sitting down tailor fashion. 


72 


Little Things, 


“ Once upon a time there was a little boy, 
and he cut off his sister’s hair, and he went 
out in the woods to walk, and a big bear 
came ’long, and ate him up, and he was 
all deaded, and that’s all. Is that nice? ’ 
said Lucy, bringing her tale to a sudden 
and tragic close because she heard Norah 
coming. 

“ Not very nice for the little boy, but it’s 
a fine story, Lu. Where did you hear it ?” 
asked Marcy. 

“ I just made it up as I went ’long,” said 
Lucy, with a wave of her hands and toss of 
her curly head. 

“Now come up-stairs, Lucy dear,” said 
Norah, appearing in the doorway ; ” you 
mustn’t tire sister Marcy.” 

” She didn’t tire me, Norah ; at least not 
much, and I liked it. I never knew how 
cunning she was before,” said Marcy. 

“ And I never knew how nice you were,” 
said Lucy, not to be outdone in apprecia- 
tion. ” I’m coming every day to play wiz 
you.” 

Lucy was borne away, and Marcy had a 
long rest. After luncheon Nellie came. She 


Little Things. 


73 


was dismissed from school early that day, 
and always hastened to Marcy's side, who 
looked forward longingly to her coming. 
To-day she saw that there was a shadow on 
Nellie’s usuall}^ happy face, and set about 
discovering the cause. 

“ Anything wrong at school?” she asked. 

” Oh, no,” Nellie said, swinging the cur- 
tain cord listlessly. 

” Fail, Nellie?” hinted Marcy. 

” Dear me, no ; it’s so easy keeping head 
there I’m getting conceited. I used to think 
I was a dunce, but even a dunce, if she tries, 
can beat people who never try. Those girls 
hardly study at all, except Madeleine Greene,” 
said Nellie, coming over to sit by Marcy. 

Marcy considered a moment, then with 
tact she never could have shown before her 
illness, she said : 

” Talk to me about Prairie Rest, Nellie.” 

Nellie’s face brightened. It was the first 
time any but her little cousins had shown an 
interest in her home. 

” I was thinking about it all day,” she 
said. ” It’s getting Thanksgiving time, and 
I keep wondering what they’re all doing.” 


74 


Little Things. 


“Tell me what Aunt Mary looks like, 
and what kind of a sitting-room yours is,” 
said Marcy. 

Nellie closed her eyes, tipped her head 
back, and rocking very hard began : 

“ Our sitting-room’s awfully sunny ; it has 
two windows on the south and one on the 
west, and it looks out on the street. I 
reckon you’d say it was a funny street, be- 
cause it has some blocks of limestone houses, 
and some of wood standing alone, and some 
stores, and a church, all in a bunch ; but I 
don’t care, it’s nice. And the wall-paper’s 
cream color, with sprays of gilt flowers. 
And the carpet’s all bright colors mixed, and 
ma’s darned it in some places, for it gets 
:such hard wear. And there are some pic- 
tures ; they aren’t very nice ones, but they’re 
cheerful. They’re the kind of pictures that 
tell a story, and winter evenings we make 
up stories about them, and 'have cookies for 
prizes for the best, and pa’s judge. And the 
furniture’s covered with rep, and it’s faded 
some, but it’s good yet, and there are odd 
pieces around, mostly rockers. And we’ve 
china vases on the mantelpiece, and a pic- 


Little Things, 


75 


ture of the Sacred Heart over it, and ma sits 
here when she gets to sit down. You 
needn’t laugh at it all, Marcy. It isn’t hand- 
some, like this house, but we have more fun 
in it,” added Nellie, with a touchiness most 
unlike her pleasant self, born of the home- 
sickness she was trying to drive off. 

“ I didn’t want to laugh, Nellie,” said 
Marcy gentl 3 ^ ” I am afraid you do have 
better times there, but we shall have good 
times here, too, by and by. I have a plan, 
Nellie ; 1 asked mamma, and she was will- 
ing. You know I have lots of nice clothes, 
and now I can never wear them again. Inez 
won’t take them because the girls would 
know they were mine, and you can’t wear 
them here for the same reason, besides 
you’re taller than I. I want to make a box 
and send them to Aunt Mary to fix for the 
children this winter. You say Kitty, next to 
you, is just about my height. She can take 
lots of the things, and my gymnasium dress 
will make a lovely winter dress for the little 
one Lube’s age.” 

Nellie ran to Marcy and buried her face in 
the counterpane, trying not to cry as she re- 


76 


Little Things. 


membered how pretty and gay Marcy looked 
in that gymnasium dress on the fatal day of 
the fall, and how they had seen her lying at 
the foot of the stairs in its soft crimson folds, 
motionless, and perhaps dead. 

“ O Marcy dear, you don’t know how 
much good they’ll do, for ma wrote she 
couldn’t afford to get new things for the 
children this winter, because it had cost so 
much for me to come here. But I’d give 
anything in all the world if you could wear 
them,” she said. 

” We mustn’t talk about that, you know,” 
said Marcy with a little shiver. ” Norah 
has been laying them out for you to look at, 
so if you’ll go up she’ll show them to you, 
and you and she can pack the box and send 
it right away, so they’ll have it by Thanks- 
giving.” 

Nellie did not dare trust herself to speak ; 
she kissed Marcy, and went away without a 
word. 

” There,” sighed Marcy after she had 
gone, “ it feels a little like being dead, but 
it’s nice, for I’m sure they’ll like them, and 
after this I must get papa to send them pres- 


Little Things. 


77 


ents every year, so Aunt Mary will always 
have things for the children. Dear me, 1 
don't believe I ever thought of any one be- 
fore in my life.” 

Inez was Marcy’s next visitor, and she 
came in with a most woe-begone expression. 

” What’s wrong, Inez?” Marcy demanded. 
“ You never look like that except you’re in 
a scrape.” 

” Well, so I am, but I’m not going to 
bother you,” said Inez, with an air of heroic 
self denial. 

” Why, it won’t bother me. I like to hear 
anything to make me forget, you know,” re- 
plied Marcy. 

Inez did not need much urging. 

“ You see,” she explained, ” Saturday 
will be my birthday, and I’d been telling the 
girls I would ask them to luncheon, and take 
them to the matinee, for mamma had said I 
could. Then when you got sick they all 
said they supposed the party was off, and I 
said it wouldn’t make any difference, for you 
weren’t going to be sick a little while — I 
mean, it wouldn’t be any different by and 
by. Oh, no, I mean ” 


78 Little Things. 

“Yes, I know, Inez ; please go on,” said 
Marcy. 

“ Well," Inez resumed, somewhat embar- 
rassed, “ I’ve been telling them we should 
have them just the same, and now mamma 
says it would be perfectly heathenish to have 
a theatre party so soon after you were hurt, 
and if I had any heart I should not want 
them, and I’m sure I didn’t want them, only 
I hate to tell them they can’t come.’’ 

“ Is that all ? I’ll fix that for you. Mam- 
ma’ll do anything I ask her to, she’s so sorry 
for me, and I’ll tell her I want you to have 
the girls. I couldn’t see them,’’ Marcy 
said, with a little shudder at the thought of 
their curious and pitying eyes, " but I’d 
rather you would have your birthday just as 
if I were well. Why, if I’m to be sick all 
my life I must get used to your having good 
times without me, and what’s the use of wait- 
ing ? I’ll get mamma to let you have the 
girls, so that’s easily set straight, Inez." 

Inez kissed her, quite unconscious of the 
pang this had cost her. 

‘ ‘ It seems to me we were never sisters be- 
fore, Marcy," she said. “ It’s just as if there 


Little Things. 


79 


had been a sort of crust, and you had fallen 
through and broken it all up.” 

“ Come,” said Marcy, smiling, ” that’s one 
good thing, isn’t it? Maybe some day I’ll 
be glad Hell.” 

The room was growing dark, and Marcy 
was aroused from a nap by Bob coming up- 
stairs, not two at a time, or tripping in his 
haste as usual, but heavily and slowly. 

“ Bob, aren’t you going to speak to me ?” 
Marcy called out. 

Bob came in, sat on the edge of a chair, 
and kicked at the floor with the toe of one 
boot, turned upright by a great effort. 

” What’s the news?” asked Marcy. 

” Nothing,” Bob replied gloomily. 

You don’t look jolly ; won’t you tell me 
why?” Marcy persisted. 

Bob looked up with a gleam of hope, 
which faded instantly. 

” What’s the use ?” he said. 

” The use is I’d like to hear about almost 
anything, and so would you if you had to lie 
here till you died,” said Marcy, skilfully 
using her misfortune to obtain her desire, for 
no one in the family felt more keenly than 


■So 


Little Thi7is^s. 


Bob the affliction that had befallen active 
Marcy. 

“ Well," he said, softening, “ I got into a 
scrape this afternoon." 

"Please tell me; I won’t tell," Marcy 
begged. 

" Well," said Bob, " I was over on Sixth 
Avenue with some boys after school, and we 
stopped in front of Old Bones* shop. Old 
Bones is a tailor, and we call him that because 
he’s so thin. We kind of threw some pebbles 
around with our pea-shooters, and one--mine 
— went through Old Bones’ window. We 
ran off, but Old Bones saw one of the fellows 
— Nick Hale — and he says he’ll tell Mr. Hale 
and get Nick licked. Now Nick says if I’ll 
give him fifty cents he’ll take the licking, 
’cause he don’t mind much ; but if I don’t 
he’ll tell my father that I really was the one 
who did it, and then I’ll be licked for sure, 
and when father licks, he licks. I haven’t 
got a cent to buy Nick off, and he’ll tell 
father this evening if I don’t." 

" Why, Bob Merrick, what a mean, sneaky 
thing, and you don’t even see it’s mean !" 
cried Marcy, greatly excited. 


Little Things, 


8i 


“Yes, I do, but I can’t help it,” replied 
Bob. ” VYhat can a fellow do when he hasn’t 
any money ?’’ 

“ It’s not that, but you’d bribe Nick to 
take your punishment, and you’d stand by 
and act a lie. Why, it’s as dishonorable and 
mean as it can be.” 

“ I might have known you wouldn’t care !” 
said Bob sullenly. 

“Yes, I do care. Bob dear, and I’ll tell 
you what I’ll do. I’ll give you the fifty 
cents if you'll take it round to the tailor shop 
and tell the man that you broke the window, 
and not Nick Hale, and you came to pay for 
it. I’d rather have all my skin taken off, if 
I were you, than buy up such a cheating bar- 
gain as Nick made. But if you pay for the 
window nobody can say a word to you, and 
be sure you tell Nick Hale you’re not a liar 
nor a sneak.” 

“ You’re an awful good fellow, Marcy,” 
said Bob gratefully. “I’m glad I told you. 
It is kind of sneaky, now you speak of it ” 

“ It’s a lie,” interrupted Marcy. 

“That’s so, but I hadn’t thought of it,” 
assented Bob. “ If you’re sure you don’t 


82 


Little Things. 


want your fifty cents, I’ll give it to Old 
Bones, and be glad to be square.” 

“ I can’t use much mone}' l 3 dng here,” said 
Marcy. ” Hand me my purse from the 
upper drawer. There,” she added, handing 
Bob the half dollar, ” the next time you’re 
in trouble tell me. Only, Bob, for mercy’s 
sake, always be square and honest. You’d 
better be a cripple, like me, than a sneak.” 

Bob choked as he looked at her. 

“I’m lots obliged, Marcy,” he said. ” I 
wish you wouldn’t sa}" cripple ; it makes me 
sick. I don’t want to be a sneak — honest. 
I never once thought of it like that.” 

” All right. Hurry up before the shop 
closes,” said Marcy. ” Dear me,” she said 
aloud as the door slammed, ” it’s time 1 
tried to get Bob away from those boys.” 
And she sighed happily at this close of a day 
filled with little acts for others, and with a 
new feeling of sisterly love and care spring- 
ing up in her heart. 


A Friend in Need, 


83 


CHAPTER VIL 

A FRIEND IN NEED. 

There was such excitement in school that 
it overflowed its boundaries, and reached the 
quiet chamber of that little pupil who had 
left its walls forever, to be taught by the 
sterner teaching of pain and patience. There 
was to be a play during Thanksgiving week, 
and Inez was selected for the principal part. 
She and Nellie came home one afternoon 
with burning cheeks and dilated eyes, and 
ran to Marcy's room, followed by Grace, and 
seriously annoying Lucy, who was sitting in 
her favorite position on the foot of Marcy’s 
bed, “ ’musing her” with one of her wonder- 
ful tales. 

” Oh, what do you think?” burst out Inez 
when scarcely inside the door. 

“ O Marcy, really it’s the sweetest thing !” 
added Nellie. 


84 


A Friend in Need. 


“ And I’m to be the princess. You ought 
to see how mad the Hales are, though they 
try to act as if they didn’t care,” said Inez. 

“They’re court ladies on the bad side,” 
cried Nellie. “ And I’m to be the queen’s 
counsellor, sort of a good fairy.” 

” Yes, and Madeleine Greene is my first 
maid of honor, who helps it all out,” added 
Inez. 

“What is it all?” cried Marcy. “The 
play ?” 

“ Yes, it’s the nicest play ; one of the nuns 
wrote it,” said Nellie. 

“ Just think that I’ve the principal part !” 
cried Inez. “ It makes me so nervous. I’m 
just about sure I’ll spoil it, but I love to 
do it.” 

“ You won’t spoil it,” said Marcy ; “ you 
always do well. What is the play ? I can’t 
understand.” 

“ It’s a princess,” began Inez. ” Oh ! you 
tell, Nellie ; I’m too crazy to remember 
it.” 

“ It’s a princess who has been put out of 
her kingdom, and she has to try to get it 
back. It’s kind of an alle alleglory. Isn’t 


A Friend in Need. 85 

that what you call the things that mean some- 
thing deeper than the story ?” 

“ Allegory,” corrected Marcy, thinking of 
the one Father Glenn had read her. 

“ Well, allegory then. The princess kind 
of stands for a soul, and the kingdom is the 
right, and all her enemies and misfortunes 
stand for temptations, and she has to win her 
kingdom back herself. And the counsellor 
and maid of honor — that’s I and Madeleine 
Greene— they stand for conscience, and the 
guardian angel, or something like that.” 

” Yes, and in the end, Marcy — oh, it’s 
fine !” Inez burst out. “ You see, the prin- 
cess wins back her kingdom, and all her foes 
are conquered, and she’s been dressed as 
poorly as poor can be, but here all her old 
things fall off, and she steps out in the most 
beautiful clothes, and puts a crown on her 
head, and there’s a cross on the crown, and 
the nuns say they’re going to have it beauti- 
ful, and have the cross all rhine stones, and a 
little electric light behind it, right on my 
head. And there’s to be a chorus, and a 
nice song behind the scenes, and then all the 
characters rush on, and the good ones dance 


86 


A Friend in Need, 


with joy around the princess, and the bad 
ones fall on their knees and crouch down, 
like this,” and Inez struck an attitude of ter- 
ror, shading her eyes from an imaginary ray. 

“ Oh, dear, it will be lovely !" sighed 
Marcy, realizing that she should never again 
have part in such joys. 

Inez saw the pain on the face growing so 
thin and pathetic in its patient sweetness, and 
tears of sympathy arose in her eyes. With 
a gentleness taught by new sisterly love and 
pity, she kissed Marcy, saying : 

I would never have dared be the prin- 
cess, only I knew you would help me. Nellie 
and I are going to practise in this room, and 
you can tell us just how to act, because you 
can act so well, and it will be most as if you 
did it ; won’t it, Marc}^ ?” 

Marcy kissed her back, and answered, 
” Yes,” quite cheerily. 

“ And I’m something too, Marcy,” Grace 
remarked meekly, taking advantage of a 
pause. 

” Why, of course you are, Gracie,” cried 
Nellie. ” Grace is one of the little girls 
chosen to be the good fairies who dance be- 


A Frietid in Need, 


87 


fore the princess in the second act, and 
try to lead her in the right path to her 
kingdom.” 

“ But, Marcy, you never saw any one so 
provoked as the Hales are,” said Inez. 
“ Why, they show they care like anything. 
Jennie Hale was just as mean to me as she 
could be after the nuns had said who were 
to have the parts, and Rose Hale said to May 
Vanderberg, as they passed me in the cor- 
ridor, just when she knew I couldn’t help 
hearing : ‘ I’m glad I haven’t got to do it, 
because I hate to put myself forward ; but 
I’m sorry she’s got it, because she can’t act, 
and she’ll spoil the whole play.’ And May 
said : ‘ It’ll be fun seeing the Wild West 
show trying to act like a court lady.’ ” 

“ Well, you won’t spoij it, and you can 
act,” said Marcy, her pale face flushing. 
” Who is the Wild West show — Nellie ?” 

Inez nodded. 

“ The impertinent, hateful girls,” cried 
Marcy, losing her temper. 

“ Don’t get mad, Marcy,” said Nellie 
coolly, though her cheeks were redder than 
usual. “ I don’t mind very much now ; I 


88 


A Friend in Need, 


did at first, because I wasn’t used to things, 
and they scared me, but now I see they’re 
not really worth minding. They put me in 
mind of the Indian ma used to tell us about 
that came to her house selling things when 
she first went to Kansas. She had a bottle 
of cologne one day when he came that she 
was using for headache, and the next time 
he came she said he was full of all kinds of 
strong things — musk, and mint, and grease, 
and everything — and he said, ‘ H’m, Indian 
just as good as white woman, heap better 
than white woman ! She got one little weak 
smell-bottle, Indian got quarts big, string, 
many smell-bottles.’ And some way when 
I see the Hales trying to be fine ladies, and 
doing such disagreeable things, I always 
think of ma’s Indian.” 

” Well, if that isn’t just it,” cried Inez. 

From that day till the great event Marcy's 
room was turned into a green-room and a 
stage. Grace did her dance for her, and 
tried heroically to give in her one small per- 
son the effect of twelve little girls dressed in 
different colors, dancing the most compli- 
cated, mazy figures, and if she did not sue- 


A Friend in Need. 


89 


ceed it was not for lack of trying. Inez and 
Nellie rehearsed their parts before Marcy, 
until she was quite able to prompt them 
without a book, and proved so ambitious 
for their success, that when she said 
she was satisfied with their performance 
the}^ felt quite sure of pleasing their au- 
dience. 

Their costumes were really beautiful, for 
Mrs. Merrick had done her utmost to have 
them so. Nellie’s was a silvery, grayish 
blue, with pearl trimming, a court train, and 
silver satin petticoat, laced with silver, and 
Inez’s was ivory white, with gold trimming, 
and such a profusion of stage gems on the 
rose-colored bodice as to make one blink at 
their splendor. 

The rehearsals at school went on perfectly, 
and there seemed no doubt that the affair 
was an assured success, but for the ill-con- 
cealed malice of Jennie and Rose Hale. 
Either the nuns were blind to this, or thought 
it best to appear so, for they seemed quite 
unconscious of the spirit of opposition in the 
air ; but Nellie and Madeleine Greene were 
aware of it, and worried over it in secret, 


90 


A Friend in Need. 


for they both felt these girls were capable of 
making Inez taste their spite. 

The dress rehearsal on the last day went 
off without a hitch, and the final scene in 
which right triumphed, and Inez, throwing 
off her ragged garments, shone forth re- 
splendent in her glittering gown, and placed 
the blazing crown on her head, was so dra- 
matic and effective, and so well acted, that 
all the community and pupils gathered to see 
it burst into applause. 

The black look of anger and jealousy that 
passed between the Hale sisters did not 
escape Nellie, and she went home with Inez 
full of anxiety, yet not liking to disturb her 
by uttering her fears. Inez herself walked 
on air, and no happier little girl than she laid 
her head on her pillow the night before the 
play. 

The hall was crowded when the curtain 
rose to the chorus of girls’ voices singing in 
the wings. Nellie quite astonished her 
friends by her performance ; the Hales were 
clever as the leaders of the enemies of the 
princess, while Inez was so excited that her 
acting amazed her mother and father and 


A Friend in Need. 91 

Bob, all of whom were present at Marcy’s 
especial request. Everything seemed to be 
going smoothly, but Nellie and Madeleine 
kept a sharp look-out, feeling that the day 
would not be safe till the curtain should have 
fallen for the last time. 

The crown was in the dressing-room, and 
it was the duty of one of the smaller girls to 
fetch it in the beginning of the third act, and 
stand with it in the wings, until the moment 
when the stage should be darkened, when 
she was to carry it on the stage and lay it on 
a table, the reason for all this being that the 
crown was so brilliant that if it were on the 
stage before it was to be used it would be 
seen, and the dramatic effect spoiled. The 
moment was almost come, and Nellie was 
standing in the wings, watching the play, 
when some one touched her elbow. She 
turned, and saw the frightened face of the 
little girl who was to bring the crown. 

“It’s gone,” whispered the child. “I 
can’t find the crown.” 

Nellie gathered up her train and ran for 
dear life. There was not a moment to be 
lost. If the crown were not ready when 


92 


A Friend m Need. 


needed, all the effect of the scene would be 
ruined, and Inez would surely be so shocked 
that she would break down, and her moment 
of triumph be turned into defeat. 

“ Those Hales !” gasped Nellie. “ Have 
you seen them ?” 

“ Yes, they came out of the dressing-room 
as I went in,'’ said the little girl wonder- 
ingly. “ Did they take the crown ?" 

“ Which way did they go, Lillie ?" 

“ Into the hall,” said the child, and Nellie 
turned and ran swiftly down the corridor. 

A pink and a green dress whisked across 
the end, and Nellie felt sure she had the right 
clew. 

‘‘Where are you going?” said Jennie 
Hale as she passed her. 

Nellie never paused to answer. 

‘‘ Stop !” said Rose Hale, putting out her 
hand. 

Nellie pushed it down, saying breathlessly, 
“ You’ll be sorry if you try to stop me,” and 
ran on. 

Opening the door of the closet where the 
girls’ wraps were hung, with little Lillie’s 
help she threw them all on the floor, and, as 


A Friend in Need. 


93 


she expected, the crown rolled out among 
them. 

The Hales saw her snatch it and start back ; 
they put themselves in her path. 

“ Here goes,” thought Nellie, who had 
played football with her brothers. Running 
with all her might, she put her head down 
just as she reached her foes, swung one of 
the sisters round by the force of the concus- 
sion, and , before they could rally sufficiently 
to seize her, was beyond the reach of their 
hands, and flying for her life down the long 
hall. 

The Western savage !” exclaimed Jennie 
Hale, white with anger and shame as she 
realized they were found out and disgraced 
before the school. 

Nellie made her best speed to get to the 
stage before it should be too late, and Lillie 
was left far behind. She got to the wings 
in time to see the darkened stage light up 
again, and Inez turn to take the crown, 
which was not there. Inez grew white. 
There was no time for Nellie to hesitate. 
She went swiftly on the stage, and knelt, say- 
ing, ” Here, most gracious lady,” which was 


94 


A Frietid in Need. 


all she could think of at the moment, and 
more than she had breath for. Inez stared, but 
fortunately was not thrown off her balance. 
She took the crown, Nellie retired, and 
the play went on to the end amid great ap- 
plause. 

It had been an exciting ten minutes, and 
had taken no small amount of courage and 
presence of mind in the heroine of them, but 
she had saved the day, and only a- few in the 
audience were the wiser. 

‘ ‘ Now, what do you suppose possessed 
the Prairie Chicken to do that?” whispered 
Bob, but his mother, who had seen Inez’s 
face and the absence of the crown, and had 
trembled Idst her girl was going to fail, after 
all, shook her head, and felt grateful for an 
evident rescue. 

Inez sat on the edge of the bed that night 
thoughtfully unbuttoning her shoes. She 
had asked Nellie to let her share her room, 
for she wanted to discuss the events of the 
evening, and felt besides that she could not 
sufficiently show her affection for her once 
despised cousin, who had saved her from a 


A Friend in Need, 


95 


mortification that it seemed to her only death 
could wipe out. 

“ I think I’m getting a little sense,” she 
remarked, with one shoe dangling in her left 
hand, while her right one absently smoothed 
the wrinkles out of the heel of her stocking. 

“ Isn’t that nice?” said Nellie sleepily 
from the pillow, where she had preceded 
Inez. 

” You see,” explained Inez, “I’m begin- 
ning to find out what Marcy always knew 
about being a real lady. It’s not because 
these girls were mean to me to-night, but I 
see it’s all part of their being humbugs and 
pretending. Madeleine Greene and you and 
Marcy, though you’re so different, are all 
ladies, because you’re honest and polite, and 
never squirm around to try to seem what 
you are not. I’m through with imitation 
ladies forever.” 

‘ ‘ Much obliged for my part of the com- 
pliment,” laughed Nellie, giving her pillow 
a few pokes and pulls. “ Squirm around is 
good, Inez, but I’m glad if you’ve had 
enough of imitation people, because they’re 


96 


A Friend m Need. 


not much good. I suppose the Hales can’t 
help being plated ware, poor things. Still 
they needn’t have taken the crown,” added 
candid Nellie, who found it hard to forgive 
such a contemptible trick. 


A Merry ChrisUnas After AIL 


97 


CHAPTER VIII. 

A MERRY CHRISTMAS AFTER ALL. 

Marcy lay with her cheek pillowed on her 
hand, watching the fire burning red in the 
growing dusk of the December early twi- 
light. Her mother had been reading to her 
the “ Lady of the Lake,” the musical rhythm 
of which was delightful to the sick child's 
ear, but it had long been too dark to read, 
and thinking Marcy asleep Mrs. Merrick had 
not moved, but sat with her finger shut in 
the book on her knee, meditating sadly on the 
coming of Christmas, which it seemed to her 
she could not celebrate this year. 

But Marcy was not asleep, and she, too, 
was thinking of the celebration of Christmas, 
with similar thoughts to her mother's, but 
she had reached the opposite conclusion. It 
took a little effort before she could say 
steadily : 


98 A Merry Christinas After All. 

“ Mamma, I’ve been thinking of Christ- 
mas.” 

Mrs. Merrick started. 

“ So have I, Marcy dear,” she said. 

” You know,” Marcy went on, “I think 
we shall have to try to make it merry, or it 
may be the least wee bit sad. Nellie was 
never away from home at Christmas before, 
and I’m afraid she’ll be homesick, and, any- 
way, I wouldn't like our children not to have 
a good time ; so what can we do to keep my 
being sick from half spoiling things ?” 

” Oh, dearest, sweetest little daughter, 
what can we do to keep your Christmas from 
being wholly spoiled?” cried her mother, 
with more love than wisdom. 

” Didn’t the doctor say I might get up at 
Christmas?” asked Marcy. “ Do you think 
he meant just sit up, or that I might walk 
around ?” 

Mrs. Merrick’s heart ached. Marcy evi- 
dently did not know that he had said she 
would never ” walk around again.” 

” I think he only meant that you might 
be laid on a couch chair and moved a lit- 
tle,” answered her mother gently. “We 


A Merry Christtnas After All, 99 

shall have to be very careful, you know, 
Marcy. ” 

Marcy was silent a moment. 

“ Well, even that, ’'she said at last. “ Then 
1 could be taken into the sitting-room ?” 

“Yes, I think so,” said Mrs. Merrick. 

“ Now, mamma, would it be too much 
trouble for you to have a little supper laid 
there for us children ?” 

“ None at all, dear, if you would like it,” 
replied her mother, rejoicing at the request. 

“ I thought,” Marcy continued, “ we 
might have a kind of combination of a 
Twelfth Night, and Christmas, and birthday 
party. If Eliza would bake a cake for me 
Td write a lot of mottoes, and have them 
laid all around the top in the icing, so that 
every one who took a piece of cake would 
get one. And we’d have a ring in the cake, 
too, if you would buy one. And Lucy could 
be crowned queen of the feast, and I could 
be there, and no one would feel a little sad, 
as they might if I were up-stairs alone, and 
we’d have a merry time after all.” 

“ It shall all be done, my dearest,” said 
her mother. “ And now tell me if you have 


lOO 


A Merry Christmas After All. 


thought of anything you would like for your- 
self this Christmas 

“ Nothing but books and the Madonna I 
love, to hang opposite on the wall there/' 
said Marcy ; “ but I do want to send a splen- 
did box to Prairie Rest, and have it packed 
here in my room, and let every one, even 
Lulie, have a hand in getting it up. And if 
we begin right away, and think of nothing 
but these things, I really do believe we can 
be happy.” 

Mrs. Merrick got up and kissed Marcy. 

‘ Do you know, dear, you are making the 
whole house sweet, like a bit of mignonette 
among a bunch of showy flowers ?” she said ; 
and after she had left the room Marcy lay 
smiling contentedly, pondering the remark- 
able coincidence that her mother had used 
almost the same comparison as Father Glenn. 

A busier household than the Merricks’ 
could hardly have been found preparing for 
Christmas. Every afternoon after school 
Inez, and Nellie, and Bob, and Hugh, and 
Grace hastened up to Marcy 's room, where 
Lucy was already established, and the task 
of dressing dolls and getting things ready for 


A Merry Christinas After All. 


lOI 


the box for Prairie Rest went merrily for- 
ward. There were other meetings in mys- 
terious corners of the house, as far from 
Marcy’s room as possible, yet where conver- 
sation was carried on in whispers lest she 
might hear, and discussions of presents for 
her were the object of the conclaves. 

A chance remark of Norah’s that Miss 
Marcy might like a pet struck Grace and 
Lucy favorably, and they combined their 
pocket money to get her a canary-bird. The 
same remark had a similar effect on Hugh, 
who, without consulting any one, went off 
and bought her a pair of rabbits. Bob, too, 
considered this a happy thought of Norah’s, 
and he obtained a Yorkshire puppy from a 
boy who had five. Inez, ignorant of the 
secrets of the younger children, carried out 
her original intention, and bought for Marcy 
a snow-white Angora kitten, for which Nel- 
lie, who had to supply her lack of pin-money 
by the work of her skilful fingers, fitted up a 
cozy basket with blue linings. 

The Christmas tree was abandoned for that 
year, and the presents were to be placed on 
the hearth in Marcy’s room, where the fam- 


102 


A Merry Christmas After AIL 


ily was to assemble to get them. Marcy had 
to feign sleep while mysterious figures glided 
in, bent a moment over the hearth, and tip- 
toed out again. She had fallen asleep very 
late, and was still resting peacefully when 
she was aroused by a succession of most in- 
comprehensible sounds. She distinguished 
short, sharp cries, ending in little whimpers 
and grunts, the sound of scratching, and 
sniffing, and something rather like damp fire- 
crackers, but she could not tell from what 
they came. While she was wondering the 
door opened softly, and Hugh poked a tum- 
bled head through, followed briskly by the 
rest of his body, when Marcy spoke. Soon 
Inez crept in with Nellie, and then Bob stole 
down, and they all went over to the hearth. 
Earnest whispers took the place of the mys- 
terious sounds which had ceased as soon as 
the children entered, and in a moment a 
shout of laughter, instantly checked by hands 
clapped over lips lest Mr. and Mrs. Merrick 
should be awakened. Marcy could see Bob 
rolling on the floor and kicking in an ecstasy 
of repressed laughter, while the shoulders 
under Inez’s and Nellie’s dressing-gowns 


A Merry Christmas After All 103 

were shaking convulsively, as they sat on 
the floor clasping their knees with their 
hands, on which their faces were bowed. 

“ Oh ! do tell me the joke,” begged Marcy. 
“ I’ve been hearing the queerest noises, and 
I’ll go crazy if you don’t tell me what is so 
funny.” 

Bob climbed up and lit the gas, and Marcy 
saw a very frightened pair of rabbits huddled 
up in the corner of a wooden cage, a canary- 
bird on a chair, a long-haired, bow-legged 
little puppy making frantic dashes in his box 
at a beautiful snowy kitten, whose long 
plume of a tail was swollen to an enormous 
size, and she occasionally spit at the demor- 
alized puppy, which explained the fire-crack- 
ers Marcy had heard. 

” Oh, how funny ! Oh, aren’t they dear ?” 
cried Marcy, who loved all kinds of pets. 
” Where did they all come from ?” 

” That’s the joke,” explained Inez, wiping 
her eyes and gasping for breath. ” We all 
thought you’d like a pet to keep you com- 
pany while you’re sick, and we never said a 
word to one another, only I told Nellie about 
mine. So we each got an animal, only Hugh, 


104 ^ Merry Christmas After All. 

and he got two, and among us we’ve turned 
your room into a menagerie. 1 think it’s the 
funniest thing I ever saw.” 

Marcy laughed, too, but she was very 
much pleased, for she had room in her heart 
for all the animals in the ark. The rest of 
the family was aroused, and followed the 
sound of voices to Marcy’s room, and the 
presents were seized upon, though it was 
but half-past five, and they had been intended 
to be left till after Mass. 

Nellie had never dreamed of such riches 
as she was gloating over : a beautiful little 
pin, a wreath of mistletoe, with the^ berries 
of tiny pearls from Marcy ; a pretty moon- 
stone ring from Bob ; the softest of chinchilla 
» muffs and collars from her uncle ; a complete 
silver manicure set, the counterpart of the 
one Inez had, from her aunt, and a dear little 
chatelaine and watch from Inez, the chatelaine 
pin being in the form of a tiny crown, in 
memory of the play. Marcy rejoiced in her 
coveted Madonna, quantities of books, and 
her “ menagerie,” and her father gave her 
three hundred dollars to do with as she liked. 
It came in crisp new bills, wrapped in a note. 


A Merry Christmas After All. 105 

to be read at her leisure, and while the others 
were at church she read it with a glad heart. 

“ First of all, my dearest daughter,’' Mr. 
Merrick wrote, ‘ ‘ I wish you a blessed Christ- 
mas, which should be yours, who are proving 
yourself, in the midst of a great affliction, our 
chiefest blessing. I intend that each year 
you shall have this sum of money to use in 
charity as you see fit, for I foresee that your 
greatest pleasure will lie in doing for others. 
You will learn to use this sum, and thus be 
better prepared to make the most of the 
larger amount which will one day be yours 
to do with as you think best.” 

Marcy lay dreaming of all she could do 
with so much money, and she planned to 
support several families, beside educating 
some clever child with it, for she had no 
more idea of the value of a hundred cents 
than many persons whom misfortune has not 
taught. 

When it was time for the supper Marcy 
was taken for the first time from her bed, 
wrapped in her white eider-down wrapper 
with the swan’s down around her wrists and 
throat, and wheeled into the next room on 


io6 A Merry Christinas After All. 

the couch-chair, which was but another bed 
on wheels. 

The sitting-room had been turned into a 
Christmas banqueting hall. The table in the 
centre was bright with holly and candles 
with red shades, and each napkin was tied 
with a bow of scarlet ribbon, ornamented 
with a sprig of holly. Evergreen, holly, 
and mistletoe hung on the walls, and made 
the chandelier a bower of green. Julia, the 
waitress, and Norah, who was to help, wore 
wonderful mediaeval dresses, with canton- 
flannel ermine trimming, and holly-trimmed 
caps. Marcy’s couch was wheeled into place 
at one side of the table, and suddenly there 
arose the sound of music. A harp and violin 
began to play the carol, “ God rest ye, merry 
gentlemen,” and in walked the procession. 
First came Queen Lucy, the queen of the 
feast, very stately, with a golden (paste- 
board) crown on her pretty head, and a 
sceptre in her hand. Then came Grace and 
Hugh — one dressed as a cavalier in cuffs and 
slashed doublet, with a sword at his side ; the 
other as a court lady, with a train as long as 
the queen’s, and her hair dressed high on 


A Merry Christmas After All. 


107 


her head and powdered, and a black patch 
of court-plaster in the form of a star on her 
chin. Bob and Nellie followed, another 
court lady and gallant, she in the costume 
she had worn in the play, he in rose-colored 
doublet, slashed with white, and a mustache 
that was at once the joy and trial of his soul, 
because it looked so fierce when it was on, 
and was perpetually falling off. Last came 
Inez and Madeleine Greene, both in the cos- 
tumes of the play. 

Marcy clapped her hands at the sight of 
her favorite schoolmate. Since her accident 
she had shrunk from seeing any of her friends, 
but Madeleine’s coming so unexpectedly was 
only a pleasure, and she held out her hands 
to her in ecstasy. The meeting might have 
been a sad one, but Mrs. Merrick gave them 
no time to think, and hurried the gorgeous 
company to their seats, Queen Lucy presid- 
ing at the head of the table with much dig- 
nity. Mr. Merrick was present, introduced 
as a distinguished guest from Australia. 
He wore a queer high collar, a flaring plaid 
necktie, and a green coat with brass buttons, 
and had black spectacles on his nose, and 


io8 A Merry Christmas After ALL. 

\ 

equally surprised and delighted his children 
by the funny things he said and did. 

At last the great cake was cut, and every- 
body carefully nibbled around the frosting to 
find the motto which they were warned was 
hidden there. This was the supreme mo- 
ment to Marcy, who had spent long hours 
composing these little couplets. When the 
last crumb of the cake had gone the reading 
of the mottoes was called for. 

“ No, first the ring. Who has the ring?” 
cried Marcy. 

Nellie instantly cried, “ I have,” and held 
up a dainty little golden ribbon, tied in a 
true lover’s knot, with two slender ends 
flying. 

“ You can’t get it on,” said Hugh, anx- 
iously regarding the tiny band. 

‘ ‘ It’s for her pinkie fin’ner, you silly boy, 
said Lucy, to every one’s amusement. 

” Now the guest from Australia will read 
his motto first, please,” cried Marcy. 

Mr. Merrick had to poke up his spectacles 
to see, and read : 

“ May your Christmas joy and peace 
Through the new year never cease." 


A Merry Christmas After All, 109 

Mamma,” cried Marcy. 

“ Christmas green, or. Christmas white. 

Be your heart forever light,” 

read Mrs. Merrick. 

Madeleine, Inez, and Nellie read in succes- 
sion : 

” For him whose heart is good and pure 
Christmas joy shall aye endure.” 

” May He who in the stable lay 
Bless you every Christmas day.” 

” She who loves both man and beast, 

Truly keeps the Christmas feast.” 

“ Gracie,” said Marcy, and Grace read 
slowly and carefully : 

” Once a Child was cold and sad. 

That all children might be glad.” 

“Queen Lucy next,” cried Marcy, and 
Lucy handed her slip to Norah, saying : 

” P’raps you’d better read it, Nonie,” 
which, considering the small girl did not 
know her letters, seemed advisable. 

Norah read : 

” May the Babe of Bethlehem bless 
All your life with happiness.” 


no A Merry Christinas After All. 

Bob read his couplet next, which ran : 

“ May Christmases comihg. and Christmases past, 
Crown you with joys that forever shall last," 

Finally Hugh read : 

" Christmas comes all wreathed in holly ; 

May each Christmas find you jolly." 

The applause for Marcy’s verses was the 
signal for her return to her room, and that 
the feast was over. 

The procession formed once more to pre- 
cede her ; the harp and violin played the 
merriest airs, and Norah pushed Marcy’s 
chair back to her door, where the children 
divided, and drew up on each side, dropping 
her old-fashioned courtesies as she passed. 
The new white kitten and the excited puppy, 
who had been already named Merry Christ- 
mas," called Merry for short, and Kris Krin- 
gle, in honor of the day, welcomed her bois- 
terously. 

“ One thing more, mamma," said Marcy, 
" please sing the Adeste for me after 1 am in 
bed again, and leave the door open so I can 
hear it. for it is the dearest of all hymns. It 


A Merry Christmas After All, 


III 


has been a Merry Christmas after all, hasn’t 
it, mamma?” 

” Yes, my darling,” said her mother, kiss- 
ing her good-night. 

And soothed by the beautiful Adeste Fideles, 
tired out with her exciting day, Marcy sank 
to sleep. 


112 


New Year s Calls. 


CHAPTER IX. 

NEW year’s calls. 

It was New Year’s Eve, and Mr. Merrick 
sat with Lucy on his knee, and his other 
children around him, in Marcy’s room. The 
custom of Marcy’s reading the paper to him 
every evening had grown into a long chat 
with all the children after the reading. From 
being exclusively occupied with thoughts of 
business in his home, Mr. Merrick had ceased 
to be exclusively occupied with it even in 
business hours. His associates on Wall 
Street were amazed to see him sometimes 
smiling to himself, and then hear him say : 
“ That eldest boy of mine’s a funny rascal !” 
Or, “ My little niece said a pretty good thing 
the other day.” Or, “Well, sir, what do 
you suppose that youngest girl of mine did 
yesterday?” and follow up these introduc- 
tory remarks with an anecdote of the chil- 


New Year s Calls. 


113 

dren. He was surprised himself to discover 
how he looked forward to this hour after 
dinner with the little band, and how the 
memory of it followed it throughout the suc- 
ceeding day. 

This New Year’s Eve Mr. Merrick was 
telling the children of the custom of making 
calls on New Year’s Day, which had been 
universal in his youth, and had fallen into 
disuse. 

“ Why, I am not old,” he began, but Hugh 
immediately interrupted him : 

” Not old ! Well !” he cried, but stopped 
himself. 

” What’s this ? Do you think I am old ?” 
asked Mr. Merrick, looking down at the boy 
curled up on the rug, pulling Kris Kringle’s 
ears. “ I am not quite forty- five. ” 

“ Forty-five isn’t old,” said Nellie, with 
an air of decision. ” Fifty is old though.” 

” Five )"ears more of grace,” said Mr. 
Merrick, laughing. ” Nothing like having 
the line clearly defined ; some people find it 
harder to settle. I’ll tell you a secret about 
old age, children. It is always the next turn 
beyond where you have gone, and though 


New Year s Calls. 


114 

you can plainly see others reach it, you 
never quite get there yourself.” 

” Poor papa ; you don’t like to grow old, 
then,” said Marcy thoughtfully. ” I sup- 
pose it’s like being crippled, and thinking 
you can never run around again, isn’t it ?” 

Mr. Merrick bent his head a moment over 
Lucy’s curls without answering ; when he 
spoke, it was of something else, and his voice 
was husky. 

” It was a pretty custom going to call on 
one’s friends to wish them health and happi- 
ness for a new year, but it grew into a cari- 
cature and abuse, and it was better then to 
stop it. Still I sometimes think I should like 
to see the old custom again in the old way.” 

“Come, Miss Lucy, bed-time,” said 
Norah, appearing in the doorway, and Lucy 
slipped down, kissed every one good-night, 
and Marcy three times, and was gone. 

New Year’s Day was damp and disagree- 
able. Grace had a cold, and required 
Norah’s care ; Mr. and Mrs. Merrick were 
at church, and Nellie and Inez were in 
Marcy ’s room, when Norah came down look- 
ing frightened. 


New Year s Calls. 


115 

“ Dear Miss Inez and Miss Nellie,” she 
said, in great distress, “please come and 
help me look for Lucy. Her bonnet and 
cloak are gone, and she certainly is nowhere 
in the house ; she must have slipped out un- 
awares.” 

The girls started up at this alarming sum- 
mons, leaving Marcy in an agony of helpless 
excitement. The house was ransacked again 
in vain, and there was no mistake that she 
had gone out alone in the streets of the great 
city. 

“ She’ll be lost ; she’ll be run over ; she’ll 
be killed !” wailed Inez, falling on her knees, 
and burying her face in the coverlid of 
Marcy’s bed. 

Marcy shook with speechless terror, and 
Nellie said : 

“ Stop, Inez, you’ll hurt Marcy. Let’s all 
say our beads till Uncle Dick and Aunt Clara 
come. Julia has gone to the church to find 
them.” 

Meanwhile the cause of this alarm had 
gone serenely down the street to the avenue. 
She had put on her cloak and bonnet un- 
aided, but rubbers and leggings were beyond 


New Year s Calls. 


1 16 

her memory, and she sallied forth with no 
thought of her thin shoes and unprotected 
knees. Lucy had listened with much more 
attention than any one knew to her father’s 
stories of old-fashioned New Year’s calling, 
and finding herself left quite alone that morn- 
ing felt that she had a golden opportunity to 
revive the pleasing custom. She had not 
forgotten to take the new muff, which, as she 
said, “ Santa Closet” had brought her, and 
in its depths lay hidden her mother’s card- 
case with which she had thoughtfully pro- 
vided herself. No one interfered with the 
small midget as she went her way past the 
high brown-stone houses of her street, and 
turned into Fifth Avenue, where she selected 
a dignified mansion, and going up the steps, 
put her finger on the electric bell button, 
and kept it there till her summons was an- 
swered. 

The maid who came to the door was a 
newly arrived Swede, who could not speak 
a word of English. She showed the small 
caller into the parlor, received the card on 
her tray, and disappeared without a word. 

Mrs. Francis, whom Lucy had selected for 


New Year s Calls. 


117 

this first call, was very busy getting ready 
for a journey to Washington, when the card 
was brought her. She scanned it impa- 
tiently, read “ Mrs. Richard Merrick” won- 
deringly, and gave a sigh of annoyance. 

” I don’t know any Mrs. Richard Mer- 
rick,” she exclaimed. ” What can have 
brought any one on such a day as New 
Year’s ? I suppose I should better see her.’" 

She changed her dress very quickl3^ looked 
hastil}" at her slightl}^ disordered hair, hop- 
ing that she should find the parlor shades 
drawn, and went down indisposed to be 
gracious to her untimely visitor. 

As she entered the room she could scarcely 
believe her eyes. There sat “ Mrs. Merrick” 
on a stiff Louis XV. chair, upon which 
she had climbed with difficulty, her feet 
sticking straight out before her, and her eyes 
shining out very bright from a brown beaver- 
trimmed bonnet. 

“ Dear me !” exclaimed Mrs. Francis, and 
stopped short in amazement. 

“ Good-morning. I’m making you a New 
Year’s call,” explained Lucy, slipping down 
from her perch in what might be called reck- 


New Year's Calls. 


1 18 

lessness when one considers what a piece of 
work it was to get up. 

“ Where did you come from, you provok- 
ing little midget ?” cried Mrs. Francis, laugh- 
ing, yet irritated as she thought of her 
change of toilette and the unfinished packing 
waiting her supervision. 

Fm not a little midget,” cried Lucy in- 
dignantly. ” I’m Mrs. Mehwick, and I don’t 
fink you’re very espectable.” She meant 
respectful, but it did not much matter. 

” I beg your pardon, Mrs. Merrick,” said 
Mrs. Francis humbly. “ Now I see you all, 
but when I came in it was so dark, 1 really 
thought you were a little girl.” 

” Never mind,” said Lucy, mollified at 
once. “ I’m ’fwaid I’ve got to go wight 
away quick, ’cause I’m going to make more’n 
a fousand calls.” 

” Oh, then, good-by,” said her hostess, 
opening the heavy front door for her. 
” I hope you’ll come again for a longer 
call.” 

Yes, I will,” said Lucy cheerfully. 
” Good-by.” 

She had made half the long journey down 


New Year' s Calls, 


119 

the high steps, one step at a time, when she 
remembered something. 

“ I wis you a happy New Year,” she said, 
retracing some of the hard road, then she 
was gone. 

‘ * I wonder if I ought not send a messenger 
to this address,” said Mrs. Francis, looking 
at the card. ‘ ‘ I am sure the funny tot has 
run away. However, it is too late now.” 

Lucy went on down the avenue. She 
passed many houses which for some reason 
did not attract her, and her feet were get- 
ting very wet, and she began to feel tired 
and thoroughly cold. At last she selected a 
house where children’s faces appeared at the 
window, and tried to ring the bell. But it 
was not an electric one, and her small arms 
could not manage to pull it. She tapped on 
the glass for a long time, till at last some one 
heard her, and a merry-faced girl came to 
the door. She took the card from Lucy, 
read it, stared at her a moment, and then 
burst out laughing. 

” Come in, Mrs. Merrick, ma’am. Sure 
it’s delighted Mrs. Van Alen will be to 
see ye.” 


120 


New Year s Calls, 


This reception cheered Lucy’s soul, and 
she followed readily when the maid bade 
her come up to the sitting-room. Here a 
motherly-looking woman came to greet her, 
and shook the little hand extended to her. 

“ I am very glad to meet Mrs. Merrick," 
she said. 

But Lucy’s eyes were riveted on a won- 
derful doll house in the corner, before which 
a little girl and boy were seated staring 
at her. 

"Well, I was Mrs. Mehwick out making 
New Year’s calls, but I guess I’ll be Lulie 
here, if you’ll let me see that pessely beauti- 
ful house," she said. 

“ Certainly I will if you will do something 
for me first," said Mrs. V^an Alen, “ and that 
is let me take off your wet shoes and stock- 
ings, and rub your little feet nice and warm, 
and then give you some warm milk to drink, 
for you are as cold as a little icicle." 

Well, all wight," said Lucy graciously. 
“ 1 did forgot my wubbers and leggings.’’ 

"1 don’t believe nurse put your things on 
for you, did she ?’’ asked Mrs. Van Alen, 
taking Lucy on her knee, and cuddling her 


New Year s Calls. 


I2I 


feet in her warm hand as she held them close 
to the grate fire. 

“ Nobody didn’t put ’em on,” said Lucy, 
” nobody but just me. Gwacie’s got sore 
froat, and Nome’s taking care of her, and 
mamma’s out, and Inez and Nellie is in 
Marcy’s woom, and nobody, not nobody saw 
me. Won’t they be s’prised fen they know 
I’s out ?” 

1 think it is only too certain,” said Mrs. 
Van Alen. ” Hurry, Katie ; the address is 
there.” And she gave Katie, who had been 
waiting, the card that Lucy had sent up 
to her. 

” Now may I see the baby house ?” asked 
Lucy when Mrs. Van Alen had put on a pair 
of her children’s stockings and slippers, 
and set her down on the hearth, and she 
had finished the last drop of her warm 
milk. 

“Yes, indeed. This is Daisy Van Alen, 
and Harry Van Alen, and, children, this is 
little Lulie Merrick come to see you.” 

After a few moments of silent staring the 
three burst into chatter over the charms of 
the cooking-stove in the doll-house kitchen. 


122 


New Year s Calls. 


and the little Van Alens explained it had 
only just come, being a gift from Santa Claus 
delayed in the express. 

While Lucy’s adventures had come to such 
a happy end, the agony at her home was in- 
creasing every moment. The description of 
the lost child had been telegraphed to every 
police station and hospital in the city, but no 
result had followed so far. Mrs. Merrick 
made up her mind that Lucy was kidnapped, 
and walked up and down the room, moaning 
and wringing her hands, refusing to be com- 
forted. Perhaps it was hardest of all for 
Marcy, denied the relief of motion, and 
doomed to lie perfectly still through the two 
long hours of uncertainty, thinking of the 
dear little sister whose pretty curly head she 
might never see again tipped back against the 
foot board of her bed, as she sat in her favor- 
ite position telling her stories. And Mr. 
Merrick hurried along in fruitless search 
from street to street, fearing that Lucy had 
been run over, and that if not killed outright, 
the youngest, like the eldest of his children, 
might be crippled. 

Into all this agony came hurrying the 


New Year s Calls. 


123 


pleasant, rosy face of Mrs. Van Alen’s Katie, 
saying breathlessly : 

“ I came to tell ye all your little girl was 
safe at our house, where she come and 
knocked at the front- door glass, being too 
small entirely to ring the bell, and sint up 
this card, saying she do be making New 
Year’s calls. And Mrs. Van Alen took off 
her wet shoes and stockings, and made her 
diink warm milk, for she was that wet and 
muddy from the sloppy streets, and she’ll 
be playing with our children till you send 
for her. ■’ 

Norah put her arms around Katie and 
hugged her, and all the Merricks would have 
liked to have followed her example. 

When Norah, who went to fetch Lucy 
home, arrived, she found that young lady 
very ill-disposed to leave, being quite happy 
with the wonderful baby house, and having 
so much attention paid to her. 

On her return she was hugged nearly 
breathless by the entire family, who were 
themselves so breathless from laughing and 
sobbing that they could not scold her. 

But poor little Lucy paid for her adven- 


124 


New Year s Calls. 


tures and forgotten rubbers by a sharp attack 
of croup that night, when for three hours 
her mother and Norah feared that they had 
only found her to lose her again forever. 

“ I don’t believe I’ll make more New 
Year’s calls, Nonie,” croaked the poor child 
hoarsely in the morning. “ They’re nice, 
but they make me choke too badily. You 
tell papa Tm glad there’s no more New 
Year’s calls, and not to be sorry ’bout they’re 
being all stopped making them.” 


A Farting, 


125 


CHAPTER X. 

A PARTING. 

The soft winds of April were blowing over 
New York, and the spring sunshine made 
everything as gay and bright as that cheer- 
ful city always is in fine weather. The Mer- 
ricks had “ spring fever,” and school was 
irksome ; they yearned to go somewhere, 
it did not much matter where, and talked 
longingly of the time when they should go 
into the country. 

The mail was brought in as they were all 
seated at breakfast, and among the letters 
was one for Nellie. She read it with flush- 
ing cheeks and eyes dancing with joy, which 
gave place to a very sober look as she folded 
the letter and glanced around the table. 

“ Any news from home, Nellie?” asked 
her aunt, noticing her varying expressions. 

“ Pa says he would like me to come back,’' 
said Nellie. 


A Farting, 


1 26 

“ Go back cried Inez in horror, while 
Bob said decidedly : ‘ ‘ Well, you can’t do it !” 
and Hugh added : “ Not much you can’t/’ 

“ When does he want you, and why must 
you go?” asked Mrs. Merrick, while her 
uncle said : ” Nonsense, you can’t go till 
school closes, and then I had planned taking 
you to the country with us, and keep you 
till school begins again.” 

” Oh my, I never could stay away like 
that,” laughed Nellie. Pa says he won’t 
set a day for my coming, because he doesn’t 
know what you may have planned for me to 
do, but he would like me to go the first of 
the week. He says a month or so more 
school can’t matter much, and ma isn’t well. 
It has been a hard winter for her without 
me, and she’s tired. He says he doesn’t 
want to tell her I’m coming, but let it be a 
surprise to her, and so I’m just to telegraph 
him when I start, and walk in on her. If 
ma's tired and needs me. I’ll really have to 
go, you see.” 

” I believe you want to go,” cried Inez, 
with tears in her eyes. ” I suppose you 
haven’t thought how Marcy’d feel.” 


A Far ting, 


127 


“ I do want to see them all at home just 
lots,” said Nellie honestly. ” When I think 
about them I get nearly crazy, for, you see, 
I was never away from home before, and 
they are so nice. But when I think of leav- 
ing you all I feel as though I couldn’t do it, 
and I do think of Marcy, and I only hope 
she won’t miss me.” 

“You know very well she will, and she 
needs you more than anybody,” cried Inez. 

“ She has you ” began Nellie. 

“ Oh, me,” cried Inez, in new and very 
becoming humility, “ I’m not you, and I 
never shall be.” 

” Now, my dear Inez,” said her mother, 
“ I shall dread Nellie’s going quite as much 
as you will, not only because I cannot bear 
the thought of our poor girl up-stairs being 
lonely, but because 1 shall miss Nellie myself 
sorely. But if her mother needs her, and 
her father has bidden her come, I do not see 
how we can escape the misfortune. So we 
will try not to be selfish, only I want Nellie 
to know that we shall all feel that we have 
lost our right hand if she goes.” 

“ Where’s Nellie going ?” demanded Lucy, 


128 


A Farting, 


who had held a teaspoonful of oatmeal sus- 
pended in mid air, with the milk slowly drip- 
ping back into the bowl, while she turned 
from one speaker to the other in puzzled 
dismay. 

“ Nellie’s going home,” said Grace, tears 
running quietly down each cheek. 

” She can’t go. Papa, don’t let her go. 
You wite to ’em, and say, ‘ I’m sowwy, but 
you can’t never get Nellie ; not never, for- 
ever, at all,’ ” cried Lucy. 

” Nellie will come back in the fall, Lulie. 
You must be a good girl, and take care of 
INIarcy till she comes,” said Mr. Merrick. 
” Well, if it must be, Nellie, what day do 
)’ou think you will go ?” 

‘ ‘ This is Saturday. Suppose I go Wednes- 
day ?” said Nellie. 

” Alone ?” cried Mrs. Merrick. 

” I came alone,” said Nellie ; ” I don’t 
mind. Pa took me to Kansas City and put 
me in care of the conductor, and he looked 
after me.” 

“Well, I think it’s the meanest thing I 
ever heard of,” said Bob, with a face crim- 
son from repressing the tears that Hugh 


A Parting 


129 


could not quite keep back, and which were 
streaming down Inez’s and Grace’s cheeks. 

“ Oh, I don’t want to leave you, though I 
shall be glad to see ma and pa and the chil- 
dren,” cried Nellie, choking. ” Please don’t 
cry, Inez, or you’ll make me. If I can I’ll 
come East to go to school again next winter. 
I wish you’d all move to Prairie Rest.” 

‘ ‘ What’s the matter with your moving to 
New York?” asked Bob. 

” Oh, there’s so much more to do in Prairie 
Rest,” said Nellie, nor could she see wh}" the 
others laughed. 

The dismal news was broken to Marcy, 
who received it in silence, trying to keep 
Nellie from seeing how hard it was to give 
up the cheery cousin who made so much of 
the sunshine of her shadowed life. 

” Well,” she said at last, “I’m glad you 
came, Nellie, for you have been such a com- 
fort, and if you hadn’t we should never have 
known )^ou. But it will be awful without 
you, and I’m sure I don’t see how we shall 
get on at all. ” 

” I want you to love me, Marcy, and it 
makes me so happy, I don’t know what to 


130 


A Parting. 


do to have you say I was a comfort to you, 
but I can’t bear to think you’ll miss me,” 
cried Nellie. 

” I do love you so much,” said Marcy, 
putting her arms around her, and kissing 
the bright face till her breath gave out. 
” You’re so sweet and good, and full of fun, 
nobody could help loving you, and unless 1 
lost my head as well as my feet, I don’t know 
anything I couldn’t better spare than you. 
And it might be a good idea to lose my head, 
for then maybe I’d go to heaven, after a 
while in purgatory, and then I could fly 
about. Sometimes I get into black pits of 
despair, Nellie.” 

” Well, I can tell you one thing : if you 
went to heaven this house would be a pretty 
sad place,” said Nellie earnestly. ” You 
may not know it, Marcy, but since you 
were hurt you’ve just been the hub of the 
wheel, and they all simply worship you, and 
think all you say is law and gospel. So if 
you want to know, I can tell you that you’re 
the thing on earth they all love best, and not 
because you are sick, but because you are so 
patient, and loving, and thoughtful, and 


A Parting, 


131 

sweet. 1 don’t suppose you remember that 
when I came you said you wanted to do 
some big, splendid thing, and I said I’d like 
to be a saint — just a little home saint. Well, 
you’re doing what I thought I’d like to do, 
and I envy you, Marcy Merrick, even if you 
never got one bit better than you are now.” 

Marcy had hidden her face in the pillow 
and was crying quietly during this outburst, 
but her tears were tears of joy that her 
dreams were fulfilling. 

At Marcy ’s special request Nellie’s trunk 
was brought into her room to be packed, and 
many and peculiar were the things that found 
their way into it during the operation. Gifts 
for each member of the family in Prairie 
Rest of course were there, and many little 
treasures for Nellie were tucked in when she 
was not looking, to be discovered after she 
reached home. Mrs. Merrick had grown so 
fond of the sunny little girl, and was so 
grateful to her for the comfort she had given 
Marcy during the first hardest weeks of her 
trial, that she vied with the children in show- 
ing it in parting. Indeed, another trunk had 
to be purchased on the last day, in which 


132 


A Parting. 


Bob and Hugh deposited their parting gift 
to Nellie, which 'they had themselves made 
with much mystery and no small effort. 
This was a box, which they had put together 
and carved, which accounted for the two 
bandaged fingers on Hugh’s hand and the 
one on Bob’s. The box bore the initials 
N. M. on the lid in blue paint with red trim- 
mings, and below that the boys’ own initials. 
This was intended as a work-box, and though 
the lid never would quite shut, and the let- 
ters were rather wavering, it was much 
prized by Nellie when she found it on open- 
ing her trunk in Prairie Rest. 

“ Where can my muff be?” cried Nellie, 
holding' the chinchilla collar in her hand and 
whirling about wildly. ” I was sure I laid 
it on the couch.” 

Nellie and Inez shook up the pillows and 
peefed under chairs, but there was no muff 
to be found. Suddenly Grace cried out : 

” Oh, look, Nellie !” 

There in the furthest corner, where Kris 
Kringle had carried it, was her muff, and in 
it lay the small Yorkshire himself, his fore 
paws and shiny nose sticking out of it, sleep- 


A Parting. 


135 


ing the sleep of youth, though not of inno- 
cence, for he did more mischief in a day than 
•most dogs could think of in a week. And 
with her snowy head resting on the side of 
the muff, and her long plume of a tail gently 
tapping the floor, while her parted lips wore 
almost a smile of self-satisfaction, and her 
forepaws drooped gracefully was Miss 
Merry, also sound asleep. 

“ I’ll get it,” cried Inez. ” You bad 
babies, get up this moment.” 

But Nellie stayed her hand. 

” No, don’t waken them, they’re so cosey 
and dozy,” she cried. ‘ ‘ I’ll pack everything 
else, and put in the muff after they wake up.” 

” Nellie’s a lady, sure pop !” cried Bob, 
who loved animals with all his boyish heart. 
” Nobody but a real lady would put herself 
out to be polite to a puppy and a kitten.” 

” I never can thank you all for being so 
good to me,” said Nellie as they were gath- 
ered together for her last evening in New 
York. One hand was held tight in both of 
Marcy’s, while the other rested on Bob’s 
shoulder, and Hugh clasped the thumb. 
Inez sat behind Nellie, both arms around her 


T34 


A Parting. 


neck, and her head on hers, while Lucy sat 
on her lap, and Grace clasped her knees, 
crying softly. 

“ We have not been kind to )"Ou, my dear 
child, because there can be no kindness 
where one is as dear to us as you are,” said 
Mr. Merrick heartily. “ You’ve been a little 
sunbeam in the house through a hard winter, 
and if I had my way, I’d never let 3^ou go 
away, even for a visit, but I’d keep you in 
spite of your father and the law if I weren’t 
promised to have you back in October.” 

When it was time to go to the train two 
carriages drew up to the Merricks’ door, for 
all the family insisted on seeing Nellie off ; 
even Mr. Merrick had promised to be at the 
station to say good by, and give the con- 
ductor special injunctions to look after Nel- 
lie’s safety and welfare. Marcy clung to her 
as if she could never let go, and watched her 
out of the door with such wistful eyes that 
Nellie had hardly courage to turn back to 
wave her hand and meet them. 

” Only till October, Marcy,” she cried, as 
she ran down the stairs. But to poor Marcy 
five months looked very long. All the ser- 


A Parting. 


135 


vants gathered in the hall to bless Miss 
Nellie, and wish her good luck, for the little 
maid had endeared herself to high and 
low. 

Inez, with her hat on ready to go to the 
station, had an inspiration of unselfishness, 
and resolved to go back to Marcy. 

“ Good-by, you dearest, darlingest thing,” 
she said, hugging Nellie with all her might. 
“ I hope you will forgive me for being nasty 
to you when you first came, and I’ll be a 
better girl when you come back.” 

At the station they found Madeleine 
Greene with flowers and candy, and Mr. 
Merrick said warningly : 

“ Now don’t eat all the candy you have, 
Nellie, or I don’t know what may happen. 
I wish I had brought you a bottle of medi- 
cine instead.” 

For Bob, Inez, and Hugh had given her 
candy, and Mr. Merrick had himself brought 
down a five-pound box. 

The bell rang, and her friends left Nellie in 
her compartment, and drew up in line along 
the platform below her window. The engine 
puffed, the couplings tightened with a little 


136 A Parting, 

jar, and the train began to move slowly out 
of the station. 

The last the Merricks saw was a tearful 
round face pressed close to the window-pane, 
surmounted by a hat very much awry, and 
with straining eyes striving to get the last 
glimpse of them. 

“ Well," said Bob hoarsely, as they went 
through the station to the carriages, " she’s 
the nicest girl in the world, except Marcy. 
But who would have thought when she came 
that we should feel as if the bottom had 
fallen out of the world because we had lost 
the Prairie Chicken ?’’ 


A Real Poem, 


137 


CHAPTER XL 

A REAL POEM. 

There is always a sensation of surprise 
in returning to a familiar spot after an ab- 
sence and finding it unchanged. The feeling 
was strong in Marcy when, in May, the Her- 
ricks went to their country-house after the 
winter that had so transformed her life. 

The journey was very painful to her, not 
only because of the fatigue, which was les- 
sened by all sorts of devices, but because she 
had grown so sensitive to the wondering 
eyes of strangers, that even in her closed 
litter she felt as though they were fixed upon 
her curiously. Merry made the journey in 
the litter with her little mistress, which was 
fortunate, for she was so firmly convinced 
that she was being borne to destruction, and 
mewed her woes so plaintively, thatintr3dng 
to soothe her Marcy forgot some of her own 
discomfort. 


138 


A Real Poem. 


For a few days after her arrival Marcy 
was not so well, but when she had rested, 
and grown accustomed to the bracing air, 
she gained strength daily, and by June was 
able to spend long hours in her couch-chair, 
tasting a little of her old joy in merely being 
alive. 

One day she said to her mother : 

“ Mamma, I want to get on the grass so 
badly ; it seems as though my flesh and bones 
were aching for it. Don’t you know how 1 
always loved to get right down in it, and 
Norah used to scold me for getting all grass 
stains, and say I was worse than the little 
children ? Well, it seems to me I shall fly 
into tiny pieces if you don’t help me get at 
the grass. Can’t you have a bed made on 
the ground, so I can at least run my fingers 
through it ?” 

“ I’ll try,” her mother said, and after that 
every day there was a mattress carried out 
under a big tree, and there Marcy could lie 
watching the swaying boughs above her and 
running her thin fingers through the grass 
blades. 

She soon discovered that the tree was a 


A Real Poem. 


139 


sort of village, where myriad little lives were 
living. Gray squirrels frisked up and down 
its trunk, and would run out on a limb close 
above her, and scold her well when they dis- 
covered she was there, and whisk back, only 
to return and peer at her with uncontrollable 
curiosity. Marcy began providing herself 
with crumbs, and soon the little fellows 
learned that she was quite harmless, and 
vouchsafed to come down and partake of the 
luncheons she spread for them. An oriole 
had built a nest on a limb directly above her, 
and she could watch the quietly clad mother 
bird swing and swing in the soft air, while 
her husband, like a big jewel, flashed back 
and forth, bringing her solid comfort in some 
delicious morsel, or cheering her with short 
bursts of liquid song that sounded like the 
scent of flowers and the beauty of June 
made audible. And one day, to Marcy’s in- 
finite delight, a cat-bird, that naughty cousin 
of the mocking-bird, who can sing so ex- 
quisitely when he will, poised in the air 
about three feet above the tall grass gone to 
seed close by her head, and keeping himself 
up by rapid strokes of his wings, poured 


140 


A Real Poe77i. 


forth his soul in such glorious, joyous melody, 
that Marcy felt her eyes grow moist from 
the keen delight of its beauty, and gratitude 
that life could still be so sweet. 

These pleasures were hers only when she 
was alone, which was seldom. The children 
could not be tempted from her long by all 
the attractions of the country, and no joy 
was perfect and no sorrow comforted with- 
out Marcy. 

A collection of all sorts of treasures were 
always around her couch — fading flowers, 
queer stones, and everything the fields can 
yield — brought by the little brothers and sis- 
ters as an offering at the shrine of their 
household saint. 

“ They love me — oh, they really do love 
me, and they’re never happy without me 
now !” thought Marcy in deep content. 
“ And how I used to drive them off just to 
be selfish, and try to do silly things which I 
thought were fine ones.” 

And Marcy found consolation on those 
days when the brisk breeze drove swiftly 
over her tree-top the gray clouds, with curly 
edges showing dazzling white beneath, that 


A Heal Poem. 


141 

though she could no longer run over the 
hill-tops with her kite faster than the boys, 
they now thought no one could untangle 
their snarled kite-tails as well as Marcy, and 
no one could do anything as well as she could. 

“ Auntie Stockton is coming up for a 
week, Marcy,'’ said Inez one morning. 

She will be here this afternoon.” 

Oh, I’m glad !” cried Marcy joyfully. 

” Auntie Stockton” was a sweet old lady, 
no relation to the children, but was the kind 
of old lady who was auntie to ail the world, 
whose coming is hailed with delight by all 
little folk. 

When she came Marcy was seated on the 
western piazza. It was sunset, and all the 
west was flaming with crimson and gold, and 
Norah had just brought Marcy out to see it. 
The blinds of the parlor were closed, and no 
one knew she was there. 

Mrs. Merrick welcomed Auntie Stockton 
heartily, and at once the dear old lady said : 

” How is my poor little Marcy ? I long 
to see her, and I dread to, I am so afraid of 
crying over her.” 

” Oh, you mustn’t,” Mrs. Merrick said 


142 


A Real Poem. 


quickly. “ Marcy is getting stronger; the 
country has done wonders for her. I sup- 
pose, considering the nature of her injury, 
we could hardly have hoped she- would do 
so well.” 

“ I know. I saw the doctor before I came 
up here,” said Auntie Stockton. ” He said 
he thought she would be able to walk on 
crutches when she was twenty.” 

Marcy turned pale, and bowed her face on 
her hands. 

The words that sounded so hopeful to her 
mother and old friend, who had feared she 
could never walk, rang in her ears like a 
knell. Although she had made up her mind 
to being an invalid, she had looked forward 
to walking in a year at most. The tears fell 
fast through her fingers. When she was 
twenty ! Eight — no seven full years more, 
for she would be thirteen in September, and 
then only to walk with crutches ! 

" Oh, I can’t, I can’t !” shp sobbed under 
her breath. 

Just then a little brown song sparrow, 
perched on the very tip of a little cedar- tree, 
and outlined in a tiny silhouette against the 


A Real Poe7?i, 


143 


bright west, repeated his simple little song, 
so sweet, so clear, so pathetic, and yet so 
cheerful. ‘ ‘ Sweety sweety sweeter^ sweeter ^ 
sweeter^ sweet y'" he sang. 

Marcy raised her tear-wet face, and smiled 
at the little bird. 

“ Bless you, birdie ; you always sing when 
the sun goes down,” she said. “ Perhaps I 
can if I try.” And she hastily dried her 
eyes, hearing some one coming. 

“ How is it with Marcy ?” asked a gentle 
voice, as a tender hand was laid on her shin- 
ing hair. 

“ Well, dear auntie,” said Marcy cheerily, 
receiving her kiss, and returning it with all 
her heart. 

Auntie Stockton sat down by her and 
watched Marcy as she asked about her life, 
and what pleasure she contrived to get out 
of it. 

” ril tell you, auntie, but I never told any 
one else what made me able to bear it,” said 
Marcy. And she told Auntie Stockton how 
impossible it had seemed to her to live, with 
all that made life worth having, and her 
dreams of doing noble things all ended. And 


144 


A Real Poem, 


how Father Glenn had told her that her life 
could be a poem, which was more than writ- 
ing one, and how beautiful it would be to 
make the children love and lean on her ; and 
she repeated the little allegory of the gar- 
den. “ And do you know, auntie, what the 
little flower is that grew there and sweetened 
all the air?” Marcy asked. ” Father Glenn 
said it was a little white blossom, but I think 
it is all purple and gold, like the altar on 
Passion Sunday, for I am finding the little 
blossom, auntie, and it is heartsease.” 

Auntie Stockton could not reply, but just 
then Hugh ran up, crying : 

” Marcy ! Oh, Marcy, here you are ! I 
was looking for you down by the tree, and 
couldn’t find you.” 

‘ ‘ Did you want anything, Hughie ?” asked 
Marcy, stroking the damp hair from his fore- 
head. 

” Nothing but you,” replied Hugh, bal- 
ancing affectionately on the arm of her 
chair. 

“What could you do without Marcy?” 
asked Auntie Stockton, watching the scene, 
well pleased, and beginning to think Marcy’s 


A Real Poem, 


145 


fall was rather cause for rejoicing than re- 
gret. 

“We couldn't do a thing without her," 
answered Hugh promptly. “ They used to 
say she was the genius of the family, and I 
never knew what it meant, but now I do, for 
she is just like the genius in the fairy-tale 
that makes everything come out right.” 

“You mean genii, Hugh — not genius,'* 
laughed Marcy. 

“ Oh, what’s the difference?” said Hugh, 
with supreme contempt for trifles. “ That’s 
what you are, anyhow, and what’s the differ- 
ence whether you stick on an s or not ?” 

Auntie Stockton was given a chamber in 
the back of the house as the quietest. 

“You won’t be afraid, auntie, though Mr. 
Merrick is not here,” said Mrs. Merrick. 
“ There are so many of us, and there is a 
bell from my room into the coachman’s house ; 
besides I have a revolver.” 

“ Dear me, no ; I’m not afraid,” replied 
Auntie Stockton cheerfully. 

But, nevertheless, Mrs. Merrick was wak- 
ened at what seemed to her the middle of the 
night by a tapping at her chamber-door. 


146 


A Real Poem. 


“ What is it?” she cried, and on Auntie 
Stockton’s voice responding tremblingly : 

It’s I, Clara,” she sprang up to let her in. 

“ There is some one in the house,” whis- 
pered the old lady. ‘ ‘ I heard him walking 
across the kitchen, and as I lay and listened 
to make sure, I distinctly heard a door shut 
and a window open.” 

” Mercy upon us !” cried Mrs. Merrick, 
and ran trembling to her bureau drawer and 
took out the revolver ; but Auntie Stockton 
threw up her hands imploringly. 

” Clara, I beg you put it back,” she 
gasped. I am more afraid of it than of 
any man.” 

Inez and Grace had the room next their 
mother’s, and they appeared at this moment, 

” Oh, mamma, is it burglars? Oh, mam- 
ma, what shall we do?” they sobbed. 

The boys, too, sleeping at the end of the 
hall, had heard the voices, and came to ask 
what was happening. Bob was inclined to 
consider it good sport, but Hugh was panic- 
stricken. 

” Now let us be calm, and think,” said 
Mrs. Merrick, forgetting all about the bell 


A Real Poem, 


147 


to the coachman’s house in the excitement. 

Turn the gas up higher, Inez. We must 
do something.” 

And to prove that she was perfectly calm 
and equal to the emergency, Mrs. Merrick 
went to the glass and put on a linen collar 
and necktie that laid on her bureau over her 
night-dress. 

Bob giggled, and so did Inez, though she 
was dreadfully frightened, but Grace wept 
steadily, and Hugh tried to hide under the 
pillow. Mrs. Merrick, fortified by her fit- 
ting preparation to meet burglars, turned 
from the glass, saying : 

‘ ‘ I am going down. We must not waken 
Marcy and Lulie. Children, you stay here. 
Auntie, I’ll take the revolver, and you can 
come with me if you like.” 

” Clara Merrick, I will not stir one step if 
you touch that weapon,” said Auntie Stock- 
ton. ” You mustn’t lay your finger on it. 
Your hands are shaking like a leaf, and you 
might kill these children.” 

This awful suggestion, adding fear of his 
own mother to his other terror, caused Hugh 
to wail outright. 


148 


A Real Poem. 


Suddenly Inez said : 

“ What time is it ?” 

Mrs. Merrick’s room was so darkened by 
heavy curtains and green shades that no one 
could guess the hour. Mrs. Merrick pulled 
her watch from under her pillow. “Six 
o’clock !“ 

With one accord Mrs. Merrick, Inez, and 
Bob ran to the head of the back stairs. 

“ Eliza, are you up?” "Eliza, are you 
down?” “ Eliza, are you there?” cried all 
three together. 

Eliza, the cook, was heard coming heavily 
across the floor, and opened the door at the 
foot of the stairs. 

“Yes, ma’am,” she replied ; “ I’nl building 
me fire.” 

Bob sat down on the upper step and fairly 
howled with laughter, while Inez ran shriek- 
ing back to her mother’s room, crying : 

“ Why, auntie, auntie, the burglar is Eliza 
getting breakfast !” 

It was Saturday, and Mr. Merrick came 
up that evening to spend Sunday with his 
family. 

“ A note from Father Glenn, Marcy,*’ he 


A Real Poem 


149 


said, handing her one as he kissed her on 
his arrival. “ This is the anniversary of 
your First Communion, and he remem- 
bered it.” 

The note ran : “ Just a line, dear child, to 
tell you how glad I am of the growth of the 
sweet little blossom, and that I pray every 
day the Good Gardener will tend it, and 
care for it, and long spare it to us to sweeten 
the lives of all who come into the garden.” 

“A secret, Marcy ?” said her mother, 
watching the smile and tears rise in the eyes 
of her darling. 

“ A little secret between Father Glenn and 
me, mamma dear,” replied Marcy, slipping 
the note in the folds of her wrapper. 

” These dear little fingers used to try to 
do great deeds,” said Mr. Merrick, taking 
up Marcy 's hand. “What do you think, 
children ? Do they do great things now ?” 

“ I think they do everything I want done,” 
said Bob. 

” I think Marcy 's just like the queen bee, 
and we're the other bees,” said Grace, who 
had been much interested of late in reading 
of the wonderful ways of bees. 


A Real Poem. 


150 


“ I think she’s more like the honey pot if 
we are the bees,” said Hugh, giving her a 
hug that he had learned to make gentle as 
well as tight. 

“ I think she’s the comfort of her mother’s 
heart,” said Mrs. Merrick, kissing her. 

“ And the light of her father’s eyes,” add- 
ed Mr. Merrick. 

” And I say she’s just Marcy,” said Lucy. 

‘ ‘ Yes, that’s the whole of it, Lulie ; there’s 
only one Marcy,” cried Inez. 

” At last our little genius has made her 
perfect poem, sung her perfect song, and 
painted her perfect picture,” said Auntie 
Stockton gently. ” Yours was a fall upward, 
wasn’t it, Marcy ?” 

” They all spoil me,” Marcy said, with 
happy tears on the face grown beautiful in 
its sweetness and patience. ” I think we’re 
the happiest family in the world, and when I 
fell I seemed to fall right into everybody’s 


heart.” 




Printed nv Benziger Brothers, New York. 






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